


Freedom of the Press

by AstralAffairs



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Affairs, Bondage, Booty Calls, Choking, Creampie, Dom Thomas Jefferson, Dom/sub, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Forbidden Love, Forced Orgasm, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hair-pulling, Hand & Finger Kink, Humiliation, Humiliation kink, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, Modern Era, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, President Thomas Jefferson, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, and also a bisexual pakistani woman, but hes a huge fucking softie in secret, cant change my mind on that, commissioned by my lovely tumblr followers, dolley madison is the love of my life, ft. the readers adorable family, so like, thomas is kind of a dick at first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:54:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 101,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26134561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstralAffairs/pseuds/AstralAffairs
Summary: The 2020 Republican presidential frontrunner is an obnoxious, morally bankrupt people-pleaser, but what happens when you become the person he's most eager to please?
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Dolley Madison/James Madison, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Reader, John Barker Church/Angelica Schuyler, Thomas Jefferson/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46





	1. A Close Call with Vehicular Manslaughter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [patsyjefferson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/patsyjefferson/gifts).



**THOMAS JEFFERSON WAS** an arrogant, pompous prick. Holding an entire press conference just so he could make a big, extraneous speech on "making the world a better place" was just about the most conceited thing a person could do -- the fact that he expected people to show up was another thing entirely. The worst part was that _so_ many people did.

And that was how one Y/N L/N found herself at the press conference of a man whose political views she absolutely despised, who she'd heard nothing but malice about from one of her best friends, and who she'd hated; his presence didn't make hate seem like a strong enough word.

At that particular moment in time, as she could feel the skin of her feet blistering in the heels she'd shoved them into early that morning, as she was fighting not to be pressed flush against the scratchy blazers of reporters within inches of her every side, as she could feel her thighs beginning to chafe under her pencil skirt, she was seriously regretting her decision to be a political journalist.

 _Yes, we get it, world peace, reducing poverty, bullshitting your way through a speech you wrote not twenty-four hours ago,_ she thought, _but when can we get to the questions?_

She huffed as he continued to his next point, frantically scribbling down his every last word despite the knowledge that every line was drawing her closer to insanity. She had a bottle of wine and a family-size bag of Takis waiting for her in her pantry upon her arrival back at her apartment. However, it wasn't long before she found that the brink of insanity was almost worth it. And it only took seven words.

Secretary Jefferson was nearing what sounded akin to a conclusion. While Y/N hadn't perhaps understood the purpose of the public address (if there was one at all), she was itching to get to questions so she could finally gain the material needed for her article. For her _first serious_ article.

But that was when he said it.

"So, with these noble goals in mind, I find that it is in our nation's best interest that I step down from my position as Secretary of State." He cleared his throat, closing his eyes as though gathering his wits before flashing a confident smile, his gaze sweeping through the expanse of the crowd. "I'm stepping down to run for president."

A collective gasp ran over the crowd. _Stepping down to run for president_?

There was a skip as everyone jotted the words down, a moment marked only by a quiet buzzing of reporters before all hell broke loose, and everyone around Y/N started pushing toward the stage, demanding answers to their countless questions. (All she wanted was not to get trampled.)

She clutched her camera tightly and hunched her shoulders to shield herself as Jefferson called for order, though he could hardly be heard over the cacophony of a crowd. It didn't take long the man snapped, for better or for worse. Y/N couldn't complain; it stopped the journalist beside her who'd begun to storm the stage, and she was already bracing herself for impact.

"Hey!" he yelled, an annoyed expression painting his face, before the cacophony faded, and Y/N finally found herself able to stand straight up without fear of being KOed by another writer channeling their inner MMA star. "No questions will be taken today," --Y/N's eyes widened-- "as we feel that the public should be given time to process the news. However, a full statement will be released from my office later this evening."

That was what elicited the rising discord from the sea of reporters, that time including Y/N.

"What?!" she breathed before pursing her lips. If she'd thought she'd resented the Secretary of State before, it was nothing to how she felt now. A press conference, as defined in all its exactitude, invariably included a period of time dedicated solely to taking questions from the press. Whatever Mr. Jefferson was trying to pull was not that.

She heard him yelling for order, urging the journalists to calm down, but the words seemed to be from a degree of removal; she'd begun to spiral in her thoughts, mind racing as she deliberated how in the world to turn the little she'd gained that afternoon into a real article. And all around her, Jefferson's call for harmony was the furthest thing from what manifested.

"You'll all have time to get a more extensive story throughout my campaign." Somehow, the man didn't look distraught, but simply annoyed as he exited the stage (which was, of course, met with outrage) and climbed into his car.

Y/N wanted to scream. She'd been transferred to D.C. to cover gritty, dramatic, headline politics; it was supposed to be a promotion. But, of course, if she blew the first assignment she was given, she wouldn't exactly be at the top of the list in the future, especially as the race for the presidency began. From her perspective, Thomas Jefferson was single-handedly ruining her career as a political journalist. She was thoroughly convinced that he was Beelzebub incarnate.

Despite her fury, as everyone around her rushed the stage, Y/N began trying to push her way out -- if Thomas Jefferson said he wasn't taking questions, he meant it, regardless of how many people he'd spent hours inconveniencing with it. As she emerged onto the sidewalk from the mass of bourgie young-adults who reeked of cheap cologne, all she could think of was how the secretary had wasted her beautiful day. She could've been relaxing in her apartment with her roommate. Perhaps her sister could've been over, too, if she wasn't too busy with her kids. The lost possibilities were all she could focus on as she made her way down the street.

She'd worked with her roommate Angelica since they both started at the Washington Post, and they'd grown close quickly, not wasting much time before splitting rent on an apartment. Over the years, she'd become nearly as familiar with Angelica's sister, Eliza, as well as her husband, Alex. That is, her husband who conveniently happened to be the Secretary of the Treasury. The connection had proved to be both a gratifying and a helpful one, as his connections had pushed her career forward on more than one occasion. However, she couldn't claim that his constant bad-mouthing hadn't soured her opinion of Secretary Jefferson.

Y/N wasn't far from the building she and Angelica lived in, but in her tall heels with the weather bleak, the walk was considerably unpleasant. As she put in earbuds to drown out the din of the masses, her train of thought was only spiraling closer and closer to Dante's Inferno of partisan resentment -- she couldn't pinpoint exactly where her emotions lie; she was torn between needing to scream until her throat was raw and wanting to curl into herself and softly weep. If this was her big, exciting, breakout article, she wasn't feeling too optimistic about the rest of her career.

It was only when the crowd thinned and she turned down an alley, taking a shortcut home, that she was torn from her mental soliloquy. As she turned right, venturing to throw herself onto her couch and bury herself in blankets as soon as possible, a black van turned into the other side of the lane, headed directly towards her at breakneck speed. Her eyes widened, cold panic shooting through her veins, and she stood frozen much like a deer in unfortunately-literal headlights, unable to do more than cover her head and brace for impact in the milliseconds she could only assume she had left.

She didn't hear the car screeching to a halt in front of her. It was ten seconds later when she realized that she wasn't splattered against the pavement, and tentatively, she opened her eyes, brow knit tightly in confusion.

As Y/N saw the motionless van, she sighed, her shoulders relaxing as she bit her lip, as her heart thumped in her chest. Her moment of relief passed nearly as soon as it arrived, the accumulation of anger that the afternoon had left her with now radiating from her in waves. Her eyes narrowed and her upper lip curled as she began walking toward the van, fists tightly clenched as she yanked out her earbuds, stuffed them into her pocket.

"Hey, asshat!" she yelled, "Maybe next time consider _not_ trying to drive down the alleys meant for people to pile their trash in?" She let out a bitter laugh as her face twisted into a sardonic smile. "Actually, my deepest apologies; I retract that. I suppose having no regard for the lives of pedestrians does make you trash, so maybe you do belong here. Forgive my oversight."

By then, she was nearly leaning over the hood of the car, directing her sneer and accusatory glare to whoever sat behind the tinted windshield at the driver's seat. It was then that a door began to open in the periphery of her vision, but she didn't notice, consumed wholly by her furious rant.

"Oh, and what's more--"

A man off to her left cleared his throat, and the sight before her as her gaze snapped to the sound nearly felt like a physical blow. Her words caught in her throat; her eyes grew wide. Thomas Jefferson folded his arms across his chest, clad in a burgundy, three-piece suit, raising an annoyed eyebrow.

"What, exactly, is more?" He furrowed his dark brow, offering her his mocking interest, and Y/N's jaw ticked as she narrowed her eyes.

"Of _course,_ it's you. Isn't that just perfect?" she huffed, and he raised his eyebrows, taken aback.

"Excuse me?"

"Please, you can't expect me to be feeling great about you right now," she scoffed, staring daggers into his expression of surprise, "You literally just held a press conference where you refused to take a single question. In the future, go waste someone else's time whose career doesn't depend on it."

"I just gave you the week's biggest news to report on. You should be thankin' me." His jaw hung slack as she shook her head in indignation.

"Don't flatter yourself; the fact that you're resigning from office doesn't mean that speech had even a fragment of substance. Instead, now all we know is that Thomas Jefferson wants world peace and enjoys kissing babies!"

"I was layin' out goals for the world when I'm elected!"

"'When'? _When_ you're elected?" She scoffed. "Please. You won't get the nomination."

"I--" Jefferson scowled, cutting himself off before he could retaliate. He took a deep breath. "Look, can you just move? I've gotta be at the capitol of our country, and I don't have time to be arguin' with you."

Y/N raised her eyebrows, plastering on an expression of contrived surprise. "Oh? The capitol? Y'know, I seem to remember you issuing a _very public_ resignation, like, less than an hour ago, no?"

He sighed. "C'mon, ma'am, I'm not kidding."

"I'll move," --His face lit up, and she crossed her arms-- "if you give me an interview."

He let out a soft groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. Finally, he shrugged. "Fine. Whatever."

"See, this is exactly what I--" Y/N stopped herself short, her eyebrows shooting up as she processed his words. "Wait, really?"

"I mean, you're not goin' anywhere." A grin flitted across his face, and he added, "And I mean, I could always have Secret Service move you outta the way, but I don't think that'd be great for public relations."

She smiled in spite of herself, pursing her lips in a weak effort to smother it. "Alright, Mr. Secretary. If nothing else, I appreciate that."

"Oh, so now you're bein' nice to me?"

"You _are_ giving me what I want."

"I'm a man of the people, Miss... ?" He raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"... Just Y/N," she supplied with a soft smile.

"Then call me Thomas."

She nodded, withdrawing her notepad with a cheeky smile playing at her lips. "Well, who knew it'd be this easy to get on a first name basis with the Secretary of State?"

"Are you gonna interview me or not, Y/N?" He raised a playful eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes.

"I can assure you, I'm not letting an exclusive go." She flipped to an empty page in her notepad, clicked her pen, and pulled out her phone before hesitating. "Do you mind if I record this?"

"So, I'm an exclusive now?" His grin only grew, and she had to suppress a laugh.

"If you'll let me record this, you're whatever you want to be."

"Have at it." He leaned back on the hood of the van, arms crossed with a smile that was smug without a cause. She smiled as she tucked her phone into her pocket, having pressed record, and began asking questions.

"So, when exactly does your resignation go into effect?" She looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, ready to start writing.

"Well, that was the public announcement, but it's been known in the capitol for a month now. Just now, that was me officially issuin' my one month's notice, 'cause it's a little harder to fill a federal government position than it is to fill a desk job." He chuckled at his own words, but cleared his throat when Y/N looked less than impressed.

"Alright, and if elected, what policies of the current administration would you see to protecting?"

"Well, our relationship with France has been rocky at times, but I think our maritime alliance is gonna continue to serve us well, considerin' how isolationism has been spreadin' overseas, and..."

As he began to drone on about foreign policy, the pair went on like that for several more minutes, Y/N's pen scratching furiously on her paper as Thomas just stood there, occasionally raking a bored hand through his hair. And soon, she was out of questions, and soon, he had no more answers to give.

"Well thank you, Secretary Jefferson," she said, tucking her notebook and pen back into her purse and ending the recording on her phone. "I'll get out of your way, now."

He raised a teasing eyebrow. "Didn't I ask you to call me Thomas?"

She rolled her eyes. "Forgive me, but I'm not used to being on a first-name basis with Republican presidential candidates."

"Better get used to it." He shot her a quick wink, pushing himself off the hood of the car before walking back around to the door. "Nice meetin' you, Y/N."

She hummed her agreement, wearing a knowing smile. "We'll see whether you're singing a different tune by the time you actually see my article."

"That a threat?"

"Just thinking out loud." She shrugged, hardly sparing him a glance where he stood by the passenger seat of the car, appearingly amused. "If you're that concerned about it, maybe your next close call with manslaughter shouldn't involve a journalist."

"Can't make any promises. I do seem to have a hard time avoidin' the press."

She was glad he couldn't see the egoistic smile she wore at hearing the skepticism that drenched his tone as she walked off. "Then maybe this won't be the last you see of me, Thomas."

She looked back over her shoulder to see the bemused look he wore, eyes narrowed in the slightest, arms folded as he leaned against the side of the van. Of all the ways to cheat death, she decided this one wasn't so bad.

_______________

**"OH MY GOD,** Ang, I'm freaking out." Y/N rushed into her apartment with her heart pounding, all her movements erratic as she dropped her bag, nearly tripped as she ran to her laptop. Her roommate's eyes widened as she met her where she stood.

"What? What happened?" When Y/N ignored her, she grabbed her arms, pulling her to a stop. "Talk to me."

She took a deep breath. "I just got the first interview with Thomas Jefferson after he announced he was running for president, and I need to get the article out within the hour."

Angelica's eyes widened. "Oh god, what? How did you-- I only saw the live broadcast, but he didn't take any questions, did he?"

Y/N shrugged, ego pervading her smile. "Perks of the Secretary of State almost hitting you with his car, I guess."

By then, Angelica's eyes were bugged out. "He _what?!"_

"Well, technically it was his driver's fault, but still." Y/N finally found where her laptop had been charging and surged toward it, breaking from her roommate's grasp. Angelica could only watch in horror as she frantically slammed the power button, urging the computer to go faster as she emptied the contents of her bag onto the kitchen counter.

As the computer turned on, they both let out sighs of relief, though for different reasons. Angelica was just glad Y/N hadn't quite Hulk-smashed her own keyboard.

The remainder of the night was a blur, with Y/N hardly aware of the time that flew by as Angelica nearly had to force-feed her any sort of dinner (it was ultimately several individually-packaged bags of chips and a few glasses of gas-station alcohol, really) and Y/N proceeding to push just a few yards past the medically-advised limit of coffee in her bloodstream, just to the point where she was shaking, her fingers a blur as they glided across the keys of her laptop.

The article was finished by 7:30 pm, hardly proofread in her eager haste, and forwarded to her editor the moment the last word was typed. Y/N's eyes widened as she sent the email, and she proceeded to close the laptop, taking a deep breath as a grin played at her lips.

"Guess who just sent in her article!?" she sang, jumping up from her seat as Angelica glanced back from the living room. She snorted.

"Finally. Maybe now I can stop hearing Thomas Jefferson's voice played on repeat from your phone."

Y/N only shrugged. "Internalizing what was said is part of the creative process, Ang."

She rolled her eyes. "Alright, whatever. Just go eat some actual dinner, and do your very best not to pass out from the caffeine in your system."

"No promises." Y/N walked over to the fridge, rolling her shoulders after she pulled the doors open. " _Damn_ , I feel like I could run a marathon."

"But it might be just a bit better for you to take a nap," Angelica interrupted, and Y/N pursed her lips.

"I mean, either way," she agreed, and they shared an amused grin. "Alright, now I've just gotta wait for my editor to read it, and I'm golden."

" _Or,_ you have to make several edits and accept thorough draft feedback, and then you're golden," Angelica pointed out, and Y/N rolled her eyes, running a hand through her hair as she rummaged through the fridge.

"Always a cynic." Her eyes widened slightly, and a moment later, she withdrew a bottle of champagne. "Hey, can we crack this open to celebrate my first exclusive?"

"Hmm?" Angelica craned her neck back from the couch, and smiled when she saw what her friend was holding. "I mean, sure, but I think you'd be obligated to invite Alex and Eliza over."

Y/N scowled. "You're right; you're right."

The pair had been gifted the bottle by Angelica's sister and her husband, but only on the condition that they opened it only when it really merited the celebration ( _it's an excellent vintage bubbly; 1920 was a long time ago, as_ Alex had lectured them) and that Alex and Eliza were there. It was a strange choice of housewarming gift, but Angelica and Y/N appreciated it nonetheless.

But in that regard, there was nothing left to do with the evening except drop herself onto the couch and wait for the green light to publish (in extreme apprehension, of course).

And Y/N was far from aware of the fuse she'd just lit.

_______________

**@Y/N_L/N:** My new article is up now, direct from the Washington Post! First hand news not only about the future of our government, but about the 2020 presidential race.

_**The First Steps Into the Race** _

_https://washingtonpost.com/veryreallink/presidentialrace_

_Replying to @Y/N_L/N:_

**@ThomasJefferson** : Just so you don't have to read the article, here's a spoiler: I'm running for president 🎉

_Replying to @ThomasJefferson:_

**@Y/N_L/N** : why can't you just let me do my job

_Replying to @Y/N_L/N:_

**@ThomasJefferson** : Where's the fun in that?

 _Replying to @ThomasJefferson_ :

 **@Y/N_L/N:** The fun is that people read the article I worked hard on????

 _Replying to @Y/N_L/N_ :

 **@ThomasJefferson:** So should I assume I can't count on your vote?

 _Replying to @ThomasJefferson_ :

 **@Y/N_L/N:** why are you like this

 _Replying to @Y/N_L/N_ :

 **@A_Hamilton:** See this is what I've been telling you

_Replying to @A_Hamilton:_

**@Y/N_L/N** **:** can't you stay out of this

 _Replying to @Y/N_L/N_ :

 **@A_Hamilton:** Ok but where's the fun in that

_Replying to @A_Hamilton:_

**@Y/N_L/N** **:** God, you're just like him

 _Replying to @Y/N_L/N_ :

 **@AngSchuy** : 👀 that's serious shade, considering who you're talking to

 _Replying to @AngSchuy_ :

 **@ThomasJefferson:** Call him out

_Replying to @ThomasJefferson:_

_**@**_ **Y/N_L/N** **:** You're literally a politician, why are you part of this

_Replying to @Y/N_L/N:_

**@ThomasJefferson** : This is called public relations, last I checked

 _Replying to @ThomasJefferson_ :

 **@Y/N_L/N:** this literally started with you telling people not to read my article; you're awful at public relations

_Replying to @Y/N_L/N:_

**@ThomasJefferson:** I was just saving people time. I haven't even been elected yet and I'm already making steps for the public interest

_Replying to @ThomasJefferson:_

**@Y/N_L/N:** Spoiler alert: Thomas Jefferson's election will cause unemployment rates to spike because he thinks he's better than everyone at their jobs

_Replying to @Y/N_L/N:_

@ **AngSchuy:** that's tough shit right there 🐸☕

 _Replying to @Y/N_L/N_ :

@ **A_Hamilton** **:** y/n can i pls sponsor you just for that

 _Replying to @Y/N_L/N_ :

 **@ThomasJefferson:** yeah, I'm definitely counting on your vote :)

_Replying to @ThomasJefferson:_

**@Y/N_L/N:** leave

...

**@ThomasJefferson started following you.**

________________

**AFTER THAT FRIDAY,** life itself quickly began to escalate.

Her 79 twitter followers became 150, which soon became 300, and it wasn't long before she hit 1000. Her inbox was flooded with messages about her article (something which had never used to happen before). She had blown up---to the extent that a political journalist could, of course. But regardless, she was a hit.

So the scattered congratulations and pats on the back she received when she arrived at work that Monday shouldn't have come as a shock. In fact, she'd nearly grown accustomed to it by the end of the day. What did come as a shock, though, was her boss approaching her as she was finishing up in the afternoon.

"Garcia, you did some good work on the Jefferson article."

She looked up from her laptop to see Ashley, her editor, standing in front of her at the entrance to her office, hands folded across her chest and a small, proud smile resting on her lips. Y/N matched her stance, giving a self-satisfied grin.

"Why, thank you. Maybe there are advantages to nearly being hit by the Secretary of State's car." Y/N shrugged, and Ashley pushed herself off the doorframe, walking further into the office with an eyebrow raised.

"You're kidding, right? Are you-- Can you explain?" she asked, and Y/N just grinned at her.

"A lady never tells," she taunted, though her tone erased any possibility that it might not have been in jest. Ashley rolled her eyes as she reached her desk.

"You've gotta be kidding me," she said, "And to think, I was coming in here to give you quite the enviable long-term assignment."

She perked up at that, eyes widening as she looked up to her from her desk chair. "Wait, seriously? What is it?"

"A lady never tells," Ashley mocked her in an overly-dramatic voice, and Y/N just scowled.

"Oh, c'mon, I don't talk like that," she complained, "Don't be like this."

"Just following suit," Ashley shot her a wink, and she rolled her eyes. "Anyway, the first article you published in D.C. was an exclusive with the Secretary of State announcing that he was running for president. That was the first time people saw your name around here. So, their knee-jerk reaction next time they see it will be to believe what you're saying, _especially_ if you're talking about the same thing."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, and Ashley grinned. "What I'm saying, Y/N, is that, because this is how you started your career, people trust you, especially about the presidential race, _especially_ about Secretary Jefferson."

"I like the sound of that," Y/N said, and Ashley laughed.

"So do I. Trust me when I say it's good for business."

"I can imagine." Y/N hesitated, flipping her pen about her thumb, her brow furrowed, before asking, "So what, then? What's this 'enviable assignment'?"

"I want you to cover the Jefferson campaign through to the election." Y/N's eyes widened, and Ashley was quick to continue, "Now before you say anything, I want to elaborate. This would be a primary assignment. You'd have to build a network exclusively for information on the campaign. You'd have to spend your time digging up dirt on Jefferson and staying updated on his campaign, ideally from near to the source. Essentially, you'll have to structure your life around paying attention to his."

Y/N wrinkled her nose in displeasure at this; she agreed with neither his rhetoric nor his policy, so being paid to think about him every waking moment wasn't the most appealing idea.

"But on the other hand, you'll quickly become the person that sources reach out to with pertinent information, your name will become known in our field, and you'll be able to get... well, just about whatever role you want as a journalist after the election, assuming you do the job well. It'd be something of a shortcut to the top."

Y/N sighed, her eyes wide, and pursed her lips. "Sounds like... a lot. It'd be a lot."

"I know," Ashley said, "but I want you to consider it. It'd be good for the Post _and_ for you."

She let out a dry chuckle, raking a hand through her hair and looking back up at Ashley. "It would be good for me, wouldn't it?" Y/N said softly, a small smile resting on her lips. Ashley nodded.

"It'd be more than good."

Y/N pressed her lips into a thin line, dropping her gaze to the floor wordlessly. Ashley folded her arms. She recognized Y/N's blank expression--as stunned as she herself had been when promoted to manager of the Washington sector. She knew she'd need time.

"Just... think on it. You have until Friday," she said softly, tapping on Y/N's desk as she turned to leave.

__________________

**"SO HOW LONG** did she give you to decide?" Angelica stuffed another chopstick-full of takeout noodles into her mouth as Eliza struggled to get Netflix running on their TV. Y/N sighed.

"Only the next four days. I have to tell her on Friday."

"You shouldn't do it. Can you imagine having to spend a whole year dealing with that dick?" Alex asked, scrunching up his nose as he entered, glasses and a box of dumplings and in hand. Eliza shot him a glare as Y/N groaned.

"Language!" she hissed, and Alex rolled his eyes.

"C'mon, Philip's with the sitter," he whined, "It's, like, not that deep."

"That doesn't mean you should make it a habit of cursing about Jefferson! Our son is _impressionable_ ," she huffed, whacking his knee as he reached the couch. He pursed his lips.

" _Also_ , for the last time, Alex, you hating him isn't an argument for me not to do this." Y/N yanked the dumplings out of his hands, angrily stuffing the entirety of one into her mouth as she glared at him. "Anyway, ar'n't you a politician? Ishn't talking about your coworkersh like that, like, illegal?"

"You're lucky we understood any of that with how much food you're eating." Eliza sat down next to Y/N, stealing the takeout container from her lap as Y/N whined in protest. Alex scoffed.

"I can talk about that asshole any way I want. He's resigning, anyway." Alex took a seat next to Eliza, absentmindedly draping an arm over her shoulders. "Besides, you hate him just as much as I do; don't even pretend."

"Hate's a strong word," she protested, "How could I hate him? I don't even know him."

"Sure, but you hate what he stands for," Alex said reasonably. Y/N huffed.

He was far from wrong; that was the exact thing that'd left her with such heavy reservations, but she couldn't give him the satisfaction of saying it. At that point, Angelica rolled her eyes, chucking a chopstick at him.

"Can you think about the positives for a half-second?" she asked, turning to Y/N, "This would be _such_ a good career move for you--"

"But at what cost?" Alex interjected.

"Don't start," Eliza scolded, whacking his chest lightly.

"And almost anyone else would jump at an opportunity like this. I know I would," Angelica continued, ignoring him, "And Alex could get you great connections and sources for your articles. Your networking is just about done for you."

Alex narrowed his eyes at that. "I am _so_ not going to--"

"Yes, you are." Eliza narrowed her eyes right back. Alex scowled.

" _Anyway,"_ Angelica continued, "I think you should do it. Don't let Jefferson's horrible personality get in the way of your success."

Y/N scrunched up her nose. "I dunno; his horrible personality is a pretty big factor."

"Y/N, just know that I support your decision either way. It's _your_ career, not these two's," Eliza said, giving Y/N a comforting smile as she reached over to squeeze her hand. Y/N met her expression with a soft smile of her own, though it didn't quite meet her eyes.

"Thanks, Lize," she sighed, "I just feel like, y'know... I might regret it if I take the job, but I'll _always_ wonder if I don't."

"There's no good option, honey; we know," Angelica said sympathetically, "But look at the pros and cons, alright? What's the worst that happens if you take the job, hm?" She raised her eyebrows, and Y/N pursed her lips, holding back a scowl.

"I spend over a year miserable while tracking Jefferson's every move," she grumbled. Eliza sighed.

"And what's the _realistic_ worst outcome?" she asked, "Because first, you really oughta think about whether this is _honestly_ something that's gonna hold your interest for over a year."

Angelica nodded her agreement, her lips pursed at Y/N's sullen expression. "If you really think you're gonna be miserable, then by all means, don't do it. But if the assignment sounds like it could really be appealing..." She shrugged. "I think it's worth it."

Y/N sighed, raking a hand through her hair. Angelica's words were reasonable; they _always_ were. And really, did she think she'd be miserable?

"For what it's worth," Alex added, interrupting her train of thought, "I still think it's a bad idea. Jefferson's trouble; you _don't_ wanna spend that much time around him and his life."

Eliza whacked him, eyes wide and scolding, and Y/N huffed. "Thanks, Alex, real productive," she said bitterly, as both her friends glared at him. He held his hands up in defense, eyes wide.

"Hey, I'm just saying!" he protested, "If you take it, you have to be careful with him, alright? If he doesn't like what you report, I wouldn't put it past him to pull some underhanded bullshit."

Y/N scoffed, raising her eyebrows at Alex in disbelief. "What's he gonna do, set a hitman on me? Make me 'mysteriously disappear'?"

 _"I'm just saying!"_ he defended, and they all shared a laugh, Angelica rolling her eyes at Alex.

Y/N sighed, gave him a patronizing smile and patted his knee. "Alright, I'll keep it in mind." He scowled in response.

"But really, Y/N, Ang's right," Eliza said, circling back, "You really need to think about whether you'll enjoy covering this. 'Cause if you won't, the career benefits shouldn't be the biggest factor, okay?"

She drew in a shaky breath, nodding. _Would_ she enjoy it? She wasn't sure, and really, she had no way to be. But she couldn't deny the thrill that ran down her spine when he broke the news, when she had run into him, when she was writing the article, _every time she thought of it_. Was that enough to know?

She wasn't sure. She couldn't have been; she couldn't have known everything it would spiral into, how tangled her life would become into his. But she knew very well that, even so, there wouldn't be a single dull moment if she took the assignment. The past few days had already served to prove that.

_She hoped that it would turn out to be enough._

_________________

**"I'LL TAKE THE** project," Y/N announced on Friday as she marched up to her boss's desk, surprisingly confident for having spent all week tearing her hair out over the decision. Ashley raised her eyebrows, not overly surprised, but entirely pleased.

"Oh really?" she asked, her expression only showing hints of conceit. "And just what made you decide that?"

Y/N gave a small smile, shrugged. "Couldn't throw away an opportunity like this on the off-chance that I got bored with Jefferson," she said, "Wouldn't be worth it."

Ashley grinned up at her. "Well, Y/N, I'm glad you think so. And I agree with you, for what it's worth."

"Well, good. Makes me feel like I'm making the right decision." She matched Ashley's expression, committing herself to optimism.

"And even so," Ashley added, folding her hands atop her desk. "You will not be getting bored over the time between now and the inauguration. I promise."

Y/N cocked a brow. "You sound like you speak from experience." Ashley only shrugged, a sigh escaping her lips.

"Yeah, I've had a few projects not too far off from this in my day," she admitted, "And the one thing they always are is interesting. Especially with politics."

"So I should strap in for a wild two years?" Y/N quipped, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Ashley grinned.

"Just know that you won't be surviving it standing up."


	2. Leaps and Bounds, or Drones and Airstrikes?

**IT WAS WITHIN** a week from that day that Y/N had begun to establish a network nationwide, calling sponsors of events in states where she knew Jefferson was planning to speak, effectively mapping out his entire campaign trail so she’d never have to cast the second stone.

And the first Jefferson rally just so happened to be conveniently located right down in Richmond, Virginia – two hours south of her apartment, and less than one short of crushing her spirit.

Going to his first presidential rally of many seemed like a good idea at the time, the best way to get the first look at something not many knew about, get the first look to turn her writing into part of the thing itself; as it turned out, though, the fatal flaw in that plan was actually Thomas Jefferson.

She’d gotten into contact with both the event planner and the venue owner, had secured a place in the part of the event they were sectioning off specifically for press coverage. Her plan was to give a live feed covering the new information given at his first campaign rally, and later compile it into an article detailing his intents as a candidate.

And while that wasn’t quite where the wrench in her plans was thrown, it sure did lay the foundation for some real damage.

It started with the storm.

She wrapped her coat tighter around herself as she furrowed her brow, trying to both see and walk into the rain without getting it all up in her eyes. She muttered curses to herself as she pulled her hood back up over her (already soaking) hair, not foolish enough to think that pulling out her phone for a map would be a good idea.

Fucking _Jefferson_. Making her drive a cool two hours through this weather, and then holding his rally in the most secluded venue apparently _quite_ far off the beaten path.

She gritted her teeth before making a beeline for the coffee shop across the street, wind and rain whipping through her soaked hair and bouncing loudly from her thick raincoat. The moment she stepped into the shop was like a breath of fresh air. The door closed behind her with the tinkle of a bell, and she sighed. She pulled her hood down, loosening her coat as she embraced the warm atmosphere, the low buzz of animated conversation, clattering plates, and mellow jazz playing underneath it all.

Although she’d just stopped in to check the location on her phone, she was already tempted to stay awhile. She wiped the rain and smeared makeup from her cheeks with a tissue she’d stashed away in her briefcase. And then, as her screen quickly loaded, her jaw clenched involuntarily; she let out a groan as she buried her face in her hands.

According to the map, she was right on top of the address she’d been given, and _somehow,_ just _maybe,_ she wasn’t _exactly_ sure this hole-in-the-wall coffee shop was exactly the location of one of the first presidential rallies of the election. Call her a skeptic, but it didn’t seem quite likely. (Then again, _God_ , what had she expected when she went to _Charlottesville?)_

She approached the seemingly-friendly barista with a weary smile and a ten-dollar bill. “Hi, can I get a medium black coffee and directions to the Jefferson campaign rally?” She knew her voice sounded exhausted, but the desperation she was sure was written across her face only seemed to amuse the young woman as she grinned.

“I’ll upgrade you to a large for the low price of the bags under your eyes,” she chuckled, and Y/N let out a soft sigh. The barista probably had a better sense of humor about her situation than she did. She tapped Y/N’s order into the cash register, making change in record time and moving to grab her a cup. “Can I get a name for the order?”

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” She flashed her an I-make-my-living-in-tips smile as she jotted her name down in thick black marker, before glancing back up at her and adding, “And the Jefferson rally was recently moved to the local library, about a block from here. It was supposed to be in the square about five hundred feet in front of this shop, but the storm came this morning out of nowhere.”

She nodded to the windows at that, and Y/N couldn’t help but glance at the grimace-inducing crash of thunder behind the harsh tattoo of rain. Even to call it a storm was a near understatement.

The barista spoke again, pulling her attention back to the counter before her. “Drop back and let me know how it is, yeah?”

Y/N gave her a small grin as she handed her cup off to another barista. “I’ll be sure to, but it’s only fair to warn you that if you’re looking for positive feedback, you’re looking in the wrong place.”

She let out a light laugh. “Don’t worry, not all Virginians are behind him. I’m one of the good ones.” She shot her a wink with that, and Y/N’s grin grew as she moved to the other side of the counter to wait for her drink.

Her coffee was done in a matter of minutes; her same barista handed it off to her with a grin and a “good luck.” (She _did_ make sure to tip her well, though she couldn’t pretend she didn’t know that was the point of her shtick.) And with that, she was off to the races. The presidential races, that was.

She wasn’t altogether thrilled to have to duck back into the downpour, nor to have to race five blocks down clutching her scalding coffee to her chest and yanking her hood down every two feet. She was all but shocked the coffee wasn’t all down the front of her green blouse by the time she arrived at the library.

As it turned out, the local library was rather gorgeous. (It being called the Jefferson-Madison Regional Branch must just have been a happy coincidence, she supposed.) The place went several floors up, all of them visible from the opening in the middle of the room around which the staircases winded. It was abuzz with what she perceived to be everyone from the press to local politicians to voters to the opposition. No one seemed to want to miss such a kickoff event for the election.

As Y/N walked through the open area, she caught consistent snippets of conversation – Jefferson and President being a few key terms. From what she could tell, the building was split into equal parts scathing critiques of the man she was there to see and his most loyal supporters.

By around the time she made it to the center of the room and seemed no closer to any sort of destination, she began to question exactly where she was headed.

“Excuse me?” She strode up to a man clad in a well-tailored suit, an air of familiar authority surrounding him as he interacted with those who seemed to have approached him.

He turned to her after letting out a jovial laugh at something another woman was saying, smiling widely in fading amusement. “Hi, what can I do for you?” His deep voice seemed to be on-brand with everything else about him.

“Hi.” She couldn’t help her smile growing at the man’s demeanor; he seemed genuine, but Y/N had also pegged him as a politician from the moment she met him, so she didn’t abandon her notion to be wary. “I’m here for the Jefferson rally, and well, I get the feeling I’m in the right place,” –she glanced at the packed room around her with a weary smile, causing the other man’s grin to grow– “but exactly where am I headed for the main event? Or is everyone just waiting out here until doors open somewhere?”

“Where Mr. Jefferson is actually going to be speaking is another floor up, but everyone is waiting here for the time being.” He gave her a once-over, pursing his lips as he eyed her attire. She knew her skirt-suit and blazer didn’t exactly scream miscellaneous supporter, but she certainly did not come off as a politician of any sort. “Are you here with the press?”

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up; while a part of her was shocked he had he pegged that easily, she supposed being able to read people as a politician was an occupational hazard. “I… Yes, I am.”

“Then you can feel free to let yourself up if you’d like. We have a part of the room sectioned off for reporters; just let them know who you are and who you’re here with,” he explained, and she raised an eyebrow. Security seemed awfully relaxed for such an inaugural event. He paused for a moment, considering himself. “Did you perhaps call ahead?”

“Yeah, I got in touch with the event organizer about a week ago,” she said, her hands resting in her coat pockets. “Why?”

He smiled, nodding toward the nearest staircase. “Here, let me show you up there myself. Securing clearance for reporters is a bit of an ordeal.”

She rose her brow once again, her mouth fell open into an 'o’ shape in surprise. “Alright, thank you, Mr… ?” She trailed off, looking at him expectantly, and he offered her a hand to shake with a grin.

“Madison.” She shook his hand with a smile of recognition. Things were beginning to fall into place in her head; this had to have been James Madison, both an old friend of Alexander’s and the man projected to be Jefferson’s running mate. It was a wonder she didn’t recognize him sooner. “And you are?” he asked in turn, and she grinned.

“Y/N L/N. I’m here with the Washington Post.”

He raised a curious eyebrow, his easy smile never fading from his expression. “It’s great to meet you, Ms. L/N. Follow me.” He started toward one of the staircases just off to his left, a bit behind him after bidding farewell to the many curious voters who appeared to have flocked to him. She turned to go after him with a deep breath.

She was having trouble not feeling small, this being the first event of such a magnitude that she’d attended for the purpose of writing an article; the big venue and big names didn’t help. As she ascended the staircase, practical pumps clicking on the shining tile, she raised her chin, doing her best to remind herself why she was there, keep in mind that she, too, was among the population of suits who needed to walk with a purpose.

As they walked, Madison glanced over his shoulder at her. “Do you happen to be the same Y/N L/N who broke the initial article detailing the circumstances of this campaign?”

She couldn’t help but note how formally he spoke; she brushed a hair away from her face, the corners of her mouth curved upward timidly. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Then I suppose that it’s you who I have to thank for actually spreading real information about Secretary Jefferson’s campaign, as opposed to conjecture and gossip.” His low voice floated back over his shoulder as she raised her eyebrows. “We consider ourselves to be lucky that your article, of all those written that day, spread like wildfire. Although I can’t say that Thomas is thrilled about the light your tweets cast him in.”

“Well, the goal was to give people more than a CNN notification update about the election. I’m as glad as anyone that they were actually reading it.” Y/N gave a wry smile as she paused, considering herself. “As for the tweets, I hope he doesn’t expect much to change.”

“Oh, by no means,” he chuckled, meeting her gaze with smiling eyes as they reached the landing of the second floor. “Besides, any press is good press when you’re making an effort to popularize a candidate. Even the kind of press that involves blackmailing said candidate after he refuses to take questions.”

He gave her a knowing look at that, mischief dancing in his eyes that she hadn’t thought to exist, and her jaw dropped slightly. He seemed to be reveling slightly in her wide-eyed stare, raising an eyebrow when she was speechless for just a moment as they continued.

“So you know about that, then?” she asked sheepishly, pursing her lips as he gave a laugh.

“Oh, I certainly do.”

“Between that and the tweets, I’m surprised you haven’t had me removed from the premises,” she joked, trying to ease the nerves that talking to this man was quickly instilling in her.

“That’s assuming I’m not leading you to security so they can throw you out,” he retorted, and her eyes quickly widened. He seemed to catch wind of her slight-but-genuine panic, grinning as he added, “That was a joke, Ms. L/N.”

“You didn’t strike me as someone who joked, Mr. Madison.” She raised her eyebrows, and he shrugged, his light smile diffusing ever-so-slightly the tension she was trying hard not to feel.

“I suppose I’ll have to work on that, then.” He hesitated for a moment, considering himself, but said, “In all seriousness though, I’m more than glad you ended up interviewing him. Speaking in confidence, his decision not to take questions about the announcement was a foolish one at best, and anyone would’ve told him the same if he had cared enough to ask.”

“I get the feeling that won’t be the last of those moments on the campaign trail.” Y/N gave him an amused grin, and he all but rolled his eyes, lips pressed into a line to suppress a smile.

“I’ve worked with him for years; I don’t get that same feeling.” He glanced back at Y/N with an amused gaze as they walked, adding, “By now, I _know_ that won’t be the last stupid thing he does.”

She laughed at that, fidgeting with the strap on her purse and the hem of her blazer. “For his sake, I’m glad he has you to keep him in check.”

“For my sake, I’m glad there are reporters like you willing to help me with it.” By then, they had reached the doors to the room where the actual event was being held, and Madison murmured a 'give me a moment’ as he approached the lone security guard they had stationed at the entrance.

He exchanged a few words with the guard, flashed him a grin and gestured toward Y/N, who did her best to look neutrally pleasant despite the anxiety coursing through her veins. Ultimately, the man (who you supposed was venue security; he didn’t appear to be with the government) gave him a nod, stepped aside to allow Mr. Madison and her into the room. He thanked him heartily as he took the door, held it open for Y/N with an easy smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Madison,” she said, proceeding into the room with him just a few steps behind.

“Of course, Ms. L/N.” He grinned, moving just in front of her, leading her toward a table off to the left in the back of the room. She sighed.

“It’s Y/N; don’t bother with the formalities.” She waved away his unsure expression with a soft smile, and he pursed his lips.

“Alright, Y/N.” He took a few steps past her, grabbing a few things from the table and turning to hand them to her – a lanyard and a name tag. She raised an eyebrow; apparently calling ahead could open more doors for you than she expected. “Then I guess it’s James to you, so long as we’ve done away with the formalities.”

He lead her a bit further into the room, carrying himself with an air of importance as she glanced around the area. “So most of this area is just going to be open to anyone, the general public, whoever wants to be here, but,” – He gestured off to the left, where a number of chairs lay roped off from the main crowd. The low clamor of political chatter flowed over from the area, a gaggle of seemingly-intellectuals carrying on about current events – “this part of the venue has been sectioned off for the purpose of being able to accommodate reporters and journalists. You’ll find there has been enough space saved for you, seeing as you called ahead to confirm arramgements.”

She turned to him with a warm smile as he motioned to the space. “Well thank you, James. I hope I’ll be seeing more of you as I cover the campaign.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smile growing if only by a millimeter at her words. “You’re on this campaign for the moment?”

“Try the next two years,” Y/N said dryly, “You’ll be sick of me before the primaries.”

He chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. “I wouldn’t worry. I have, by now, known Thomas for longer than I care to remember, and still managed to let him rope me into managing his campaign.” He hesistated for a moment, glancing toward the stage of the venue with a grin. “And if I can handle him that long, I can take anyone.”

“Then you’re stronger than most,” she quipped, eliciting a snort from the man.

“Tell me about it.” He glanced at her for a moment, considering her as he unfolded his arms. “I look forward to seeing you around, Y/N.”

She smiled. “Likewise.”

* * *

 **Y/N** **HAD SETTLED** into the press section just minutes later, her glasses pushed up the bridge of her nose and her game face on. Her eyes narrowed, nose scrunching up as she focused intently on her computer screen, confirming with her boss that she had clearance to set up a live coverage feed, fact-checking and real-time reporting the nonsense she was wholly prepared for the presidential candidate to spew. She was so focused, in fact, that she didn’t notice the reporter just to her left watching her with amused eyes.

So it was to no one’s surprise but hers when she nearly jumped out of her seat upon him finally saying something to her.

“So what publication are you here with?”

When she finally regained her bearings, her smile was anxious, and she pushed her glasses back as she replied. “I’m, ah, with the Washington Post.” She hesitated for a moment, still feeling off guard as she eyed the amused look playing at the man’s lips, the laugh dancing in his eyes, before asking, “What about you?”

“New York Times.” He leaned in, offering her his hand to shake. “Ben Arnold.”

She pursed her lips, before taking his hand and saying, “Y/N L/N.”

“So what brings you here, Y/N?” He moved away once again to rest against the back of his chair, an inquisitive eyebrow raised, and she shrugged, giving a light smile.

“Same as everyone over here,” she said, nodding toward the reporters on her left and right, “Following a story. Hoping _someone_ will create one for me.” She grinned at that, sharing a glance with him before looking to the stage. He chuckled, nodded.

“A noble goal.” With that, he paused; he raised an eyebrow as he eyed here for a moment, spared her a sidelong glance. “You from around here? Forgive me when I say you don’t seem exactly… the type.”

She had to stifle a laugh at that, eyebrows nearing her hairline as she looked back at him, amused disbelief dancing in her eyes. “'The type’? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged as he shifted his gaze back toward the stage. “You don’t seem as cold or cutthroat as DCers tend to be.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Sure.”

“Now what makes you say that?” Her expression read curiosity now as she fixed her gaze on Ben. He gave her a knowing grin.

“You’re making small talk at a work event.”

She couldn’t help her full laugh at that; he had her pegged. “Alright, you got me. I’m not from here. You sound like you speak from experience though; how long have you lived in DC?”

He again leaned forward in his chair, his smile an easy one at her reaction to his words. “Yeah, I’ve been covering politics for the New York Times for six years now. Have yet to publish my big breakout story, though, unfortunately.”

“So do you report on domestic government happenings and stuff, then?” she asked. He nodded.

“Something like that.” He leaned back in his chair, opened his mouth to continue speaking, but was promptly cut off by the clamor of the crowd who’d all just been let in. He instead chuckled, sharing a look with Y/N. “Seems like a lively crowd.”

“That is certainly a word you could use for it,” Y/N shrugged, and Ben snorted.

“How’s 'chaotic’?”

“More apt.” Y/N paused a moment, sharing a grin with the man, before turning back to her laptop. “Anyway, them letting the guests in must mean Jefferson’s not too far from going on stage. I really should finish setting up my live feed.” She gave him an apologetic look, and his smile didn’t falter.

“Hey, don’t let me stop you. That is what we’re here for, Y/N.” He hesitated a moment, reaching into his bag and withdrawing a small piece of paper. “Take my card, though. Let me know if you ever need anything – a contact, some info, whatever.”

She raised her eyebrows, surprised but pleased at the development, and took the card with a smile. “Why thank you, Ben Arnold.”

He grinned. “Anytime, Y/N L/N.”

**↯**

**SEVERAL MINUTES PASSED** yet before Jefferson went on, and even more did so as he skirted giving details on his actual policies. It kept Y/N on her toes, though, raking through his voting records, previous statements and speeches, as well as his actions as the Secretary of State. Y/N couldn’t help but wonder how many calories she had burned through the speech, what with having spent the past hour running sprints through a mile-long list of everything Jefferson had ever done.

This time, he did, in fact, take questions. ( _That’s a first,_ thought Y/N dryly.) Most of his answers seemed practiced, canned, meaningless fluff, because no one in the general crowd had come to play hardball with their questions. Unfortunately for him, Y/N had worn her gym shoes – metaphorically. Realistically, she hobbled through the storm in her most practical pair of black pumps.

Regardless, she wasn’t there for a scrimmage. She wanted a game.

Her eyes scanned the crowd around her, searching for one of the event attendees bringing microphones around so those in their seats could post questions to the Secretary of State. She smiled as she caught one of the men’s gaze, flagging him down to bring her the mic.

Once it was safely in her hand, though, her sharp gaze was fixed back on Jefferson, laughing as he assured a voter he wouldn’t be raising taxes, so long as he could help it. The woman he was addressing seemed to be pleased with his answer, so the spotlight in the crowd shifted to Y/N.

Perhaps she had imagined it, but Y/N could have sworn she saw Jefferson’s smile widen as he caught her eye. (She certainly hadn’t imagined it when his eyes roamed her figure, lingering for a moment on the neckline of her deep green blouse.)

“Secretary Jefferson,” she began, no trace of a smile longer settled on her lips. “As president, how would you plan to conduct the United States in the current humanitarian crisis in Yemen?”

His expression was steady as his piercing gaze met her own, wearing a smile that was all but strained. “My stance on the war in Yemen hasn’t changed, Ms. L/N,” – she certainly didn’t remember having given her name when she stood to speak – “and I firmly maintain that the United States has not done enough to help the innocent citizens in Yemen suffering through this war, through no fault of their own.”

He gave her a warm (fake) smile, about to turn away and address another question, but she wasn’t done. “Alright, well if the situation has escalated to its current state – and the U.S. has done next to nothing thus far – under _your_ watch as Secretary of State, what reason do we have to believe that will change with you as President?”

He hesitated a moment, a fire lit behind his eyes as he recognized her challenge for what it was; she could hear a quiet murmur of discussion from the section of reporters around her, could see Jefferson’s jaw tick under the stage lights despite the smile he retained.

“Ms. L/N,” he repeated slowly, before turning slightly to address the entire crowd, “and to all those present today, I urge you to recognize that one person cannot start a war, and nor can one person finish one. Many factors, political and global, went into the escalation of the crisis in Yemen, and the State Department has made a genuine effort to do our part to aid and support the Yemeni people through it.”

“Yes, but–”

“Yes sir, up front in the blue?” Y/N’s immediate reflex to push him further was cut off before it could continue. Jefferson’s charismatic facade was back, stronger than ever as he addressed the man he’d called on to end Y/N’s interrogation, but his clearly cutting her off seemed far from well received, if the uncomfortable buzz of the crowd was anything to go off of.

Y/N retook her seat, though reluctantly, her jaw tight and arms folded across her chest as she stared disdainfully up at the presidential hopeful. Ideally, a hopeful would be all he could become, if she had anything to say about it – and this time, she wouldn’t be cut off.

**↯**

**A NUMBER OF** questions (that weren’t hers) and a struggle to not be trampled by the crowd on her way out of the auditorium later, Y/N found herself back on the lobby floor, this time with Jefferson roaming around shaking hands, as opposed to his associates.

She finally caught him at a free moment, right between kissing babies and schmoozing voters, and didn’t hesitate to weave through the crowd, making a beeline for where he stood.

“Secretary Jefferson,” –He turned to her with wide eyes, visibly startled at her approach– “Care to make a statement for the record about your approach to counterterrorism worldwide?”

He couldn’t help but grin at her no-nonsense attitude, recognizing her immediately by her expectant expression and businesslike tone. He already knew she’d shown to the event, but it was apparently too presumptuous to have thought her questioning during the rally would’ve been all. “Thought we had agreed you were callin’ me Thomas.”

She raised an eyebrow, surprised for a moment at the confirmation that hed recognized her, and folded her arms, suddenly feeling rather defensive. “You’ll have to forgive me for supposing that when you nearly hit someone with a car, you’d be in a bit of a rush to forget it.”

“It’s hard to forget a lady who extorts you for an interview you weren’t plannin’ on givin’.” He raised his eyebrows with that, returning her challenge, though the mischief dancing in his eyes never withered.

Heat crept up the back of Y/N’s neck at that, though. She wasn’t sure what she expected when she decided to grill Jefferson on his policy, but it certainly wasn’t that things would be turned back on her. “I needed a story,” she ultimately said, lamely.

“And you’re willin’ to do anythin’ to make one then, huh?” He took another step forward, encroaching on Y/N’s space – and while it would’ve looked to anyone else they were having a friendly conversation about his campaign, Y/N was crawling in her skin.

His expression was still pleasant, but Y/N scowled. “I wouldn’t say it’s my fault nothing you’re doing is enough to constitute its own story.” She paused, considering his raised brow, before adding, “I’d think you’d want press coverage, but your strategy so far isn’t going to get it for you.”

“I seem to be doin’ just fine on that front, Y/N.” He glanced around him, looking smug as he surveyed the area. “We got reporters from all the big publications in the area. And you’re here.”

Jefferson gave her a very pointed look with that, eyebrows raised expectantly, and she knew he was right. With the name he already had, it’d be a cold day in hell when his presidential bid didn’t receive twice the air time as anyone else’s.

Sighing, she decided to change the subject, knowing exactly which role she was filling so far in this game of cat and mouse. “Anyway, who are you thinking of as your running mate, Mr. Je–” He folded his arms, and she hesitated, “Thomas?”

His eyes shone with satisfaction at that, a satisfaction which Y/N couldn’t quite place the source of. “Off the record?”

“Not unless you need it to be.” He pursed his lips at that, his smile still hardly contained as he looked down at her.

“Alright, but just so y'know, nothin’s official.” He glanced across the room a moment, his eyes flitting back and forth before his expression split into a grin. “You’ve met James?”

She raised an eyebrow, couldn’t help but smile herself at that as she looked back at Jefferson. “So he’s really who you’re considering?”

“Don’t see why not.” He looked down at her with a fox-like grin, and added, “Don’t tell me you’ve got an issue with that; from what I heard you two were gettin’ on just fine.”

“No complaints here.” She laughed, brushing a loose hair behind her ear, and gave him a roguish smile. “Seems like he’s the only thing that’ll make these next two years tolerable.”

“Well sweetheart, if you get sick of me, you can always feel free to harass the Democrats,” he said matter-of-factly, and she rolled her eyes, gave a huff of mirthless laughter.

“Fat chance.” He raised an eyebrow at her cynicism, and she explained, “I’m signed on to follow your campaign right up until the election – or when you lose the nomination. My editor’s decided you’re someone to watch, and I’m the poor sucker stuck doing it.”

“Well honestly, 'signed on’ sounds to me like you had a say in the matter.” His grin grew as he folded his arms across his chest, drawing ever closer to Y/N. “So you decided you wanted to spend the next two years of your life with me. Honestly, I’m flattered, Y/N.”

Jefferson’s smile was _far_ too smug for her liking, and for the sake of professionalism, she resisted the urge to slap it off his face, choosing instead to say, “Don’t get too cocky. They’re jacking up my pay for this too, Thomas.” (That wasn’t true, mind you, but she needed an excuse that made it seem like they twisted her arm. She couldn’t allow Jefferson the satisfaction, otherwise.)

“Oh, yeah?” He raised an eyebrow.

“You bet.”

“Sounds like you owe me then, Y/N.” His grin had mellowed out to a soft smile by then, which almost felt more threatening given the circumstance. She felt herself swallow roughly as Jefferson fixed her with a chilling stare. “And it sounds like I’m gonna spend the next two years figurin’ out how you can _ever_ pay me back.”

* * *

##  **_TWITTER_ **

**@Y/N_L/N** : And into the presidential race we go. See my recent article for the Washington Post for an update on Secretary Jefferson’s future political plans – or in cases, his lack of such.

**_Leaps and Bounds or Drones and Airstrikes: Thomas Jefferson’s Foreign Policy_ **   
_[https://washingtonpost.com/this/isn&t-a-site](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwashingtonpost.com%2Fthis%2Fisn%26t-a-site&t=NzU0OTc4NGNiZGM4YjNhZTA0NGVmZmQwZGQyYzY2Y2IxNzkxYTc1NSxETElhSDdoRQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AqZnNw2PYQY4DFTpdXuVWAQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fastralaffairs.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F185750468091%2Ffreedom-of-the-press-02-thomas-jefferson&m=1&ts=1598500568) _

_Replying to @Y/N_L/N:_  
 **@AngelicaSchuy:** I take it you took the job, then? 😉

 _Replying to @AngelicaSchuy:_  
 ** _@_** **Y/N_L/N:** Here’s hoping I won’t live to regret it 🥂

 _Replying to @Y/N_L/N:_  
 **@LizaHamilton:** I don’t think you know how unreasonably proud it makes me when you publish new articles

 _Replying to @LizaHamilton:_  
 **@Y/N_L/N:** have i mentioned at all recently that i love you??? oh my god???

**…**

**@A_Hamilton wants to send you a message. Accept?**

Offscreen, Y/N couldn’t help but furrow her brow at the notification. Why wouldn’t he just text her? What was so important that it couldn’t wait for him to open a different app? Hesitantly, she pursed her lips and pressed accept.

 **@A_Hamilton** : WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU ACCEPT THE OFFER

 **@A_Hamilton** : YOU COULD’VE BEEN WRITING PERFECTLY GOOD ARTICLES ABOUT DOMESTIC POLICY OR,,, TAXES

 **@A_Hamilton** : as proud as I am of you for smearing Jefferson in your article, rethink your priorities, jfc

 **@Y/N_L/N** : cool it, asshole. it’s a good opportunity and has already, ironically, gotten ME good press as a reporter

 **@Y/N_L/N** : just because you hate the prick in purple doesnt mean he isn’t good for my career

 **@A_Hamilton** : Y/N, please, i love you and you know how adamantly i support you and your career

 **@A_Hamilton** : but please, for the love of god, it’s not too late to reconsider

 **@Y/N_L/N:** always fun talking to you, lex.

…

**@JamesMdson started following you.**

**@JamesMdson liked your recent tweet.**

Y/N hesitated, pursed her lips as her phone lit up with the notification, before tapping on his profile.

**Messages to: @JamesMdson**

**@Y/N_L/N:** yknow, id think that as a campaign manager, you wouldn’t like tweets smearing your candidate

 **@JamesMdson:** please, Y/N, if you managed a campaign youd understand that no one will ever hate a candidate as much as their manager

 **@Y/N_L/N:** im begging you to let me use that on record

 **@JamesMdson:** for my sake, it’d better not be

 **@Y/N_L/N:** no fun

**…**

**@ThomasJefferson** : Thank you all, people of Charlottesville, for an incredible turnout at an astoundingly successful first campaign rally! So much love for the people of my hometown.

_img.653667.987.jpeg_

_Replying to @ThomasJefferson:_  
 _ **@**_ **Y/N_L/N:** would you mind defining 'success’, if only for bookkeeping purposes? we seem to be operating under different definitions

 _Replying to @Y/N_L/N:_  
 **@A_Hamilton:** i may have to approve of your assignment after all just for tweets like these

_Replying to @A_Hamilton:_   
**@Y/N_L/N: 🤠🤠🤠**

_Replying to @Y/N_L/N:_  
@ **ThomasJefferson:** How would you feel about defining success as having been able to see you all afternoon? 😉

 _Replying to @ThomasJefferson:_  
 **@Y/N_L/N** : how do i dislike a tweet

**@A_Hamilton liked your tweet.**

**@ThomasJefferson liked your tweet.**

**…**

**@ThomasJefferson wants to send you a message.**


	3. Tales in Temptation

Y/N RUSHED INTO the apartment, darting toward the kitchen counter as she tried not to lose the balance of soup she had stacked up to her chin. She caught wind of Alex’s stunned face from where he stood behind her, still holding the door open to let her in, and gave him a sheepish smile over her shoulder. It wasn’t until the cups of soup were safely on the counter that she slowed down.

“Hey, Lex.” She turned around, leaned against the counter as she met his eyes. “Thanks for letting me know Eliza and Pip were sick. I got here as fast as I could.”

He raised his eyebrows, his face the picture of disbelief as he closed the door behind her, returning to his own apartment. “As fast as you could after picking up,” –He leaned to her right where she stood, glancing at the critical mass of food behind her– “four cups of soup?”

She grinned. “I had to come prepared.”

He raised an eyebrow. “ _Obviously_.”

“So where are they? Can I come in and see them?” She ignored the sarcasm in his tone as she shrugged off her coat, walking back toward the door and hanging it on one of the hooks where she came in. He nodded toward their hallway, indicating with a smile for her to follow.

“Yeah, c'mon; they’re in our room.” He started down toward the bedroom as she kicked off her shoes, subsequently rushing after him. “Liza’s still not doing so good, but she’s definitely better off than Pip. Poor kid isn’t himself right now.”

“Aw, yeah?” Y/N frowned, her brow furrowed as he looked over his shoulder at her. “Shit, that sucks; I’m sorry. What are they down with?”

“I’m actually not sure, but we think it’s the flu.” Alex scratched the back of his neck, face wound up into what was almost a grimace as we reached his bedroom. “C'mon in.” He pushed the door open, and Y/N walked tentatively into the empty doorway as he entered the room, wearing a wary smile as Eliza glanced over at her, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Hey, Eliza,” Y/N said softly. “How’re you doing?”

She smiled, though fatigue was written from her weary brow to the heavy bags under her eyes. “Hey, honey.” Her voice was almost softer than Y/N’s. “Please, come in, I’m doing just fine.”

She sat next to where Philip lay on the foot of the bed, watching Inside Out on what you recognized as Eliza’s tablet as he scrunched his nose up, perpetually looking as though he was about to sneeze. “Hey, Pip,” she added with an amused smile, and he rolled over, looking bored before his eyes lit up as he saw Y/N.

“Aunt Y/N!” He pushed himself off the bed with a toothy (and tooth _less)_ grin, coming over to give her a hug. She swept him gladly up onto her arms, shifting him onto her hip as he latched onto her shoulders.

“How’s it goin’, kiddo?”

He pursed his lips, shook his head dramatically. “Really bad. Me and Mama have the fluke.”

She raised her eyebrows at this, turning with him to Eliza and suppressing a laugh. “Oh yeah? Is that right, Mama? You have the fluke?”

Eliza’s small smile waa threatening to become a grin as Philip nodded earnestly. She couldn’t help but be endeared at the pair. “Something like that,” she agreed, and Philip turned again to Y/N looking very self-contented.

“See? We got fevers and coughs and everything,” he pouted, and she matched his expression, looking sympathetic as she pulled him closer. He wrapped his little arms around her neck while her expression softened toward Eliza.

“I’m sorry you guys are feeling so bad.” The words were directed both at Eliza and Philip, but their four-year-old’s mind seemed long gone at that point, attention drawn back to the cartoon playing on the tablet over Y/N’s shoulder.

It was then that Alex came over to Eliza, joining her on the side of the bed with an affectionate smile. “I know. It’s the worst.” He leaned in to wrap an arm around Eliza’s shoulder, pulled her close as he softly kissed her forehead. “I’m really gonna miss you at the gala tonight, Lize.” He gave a soft chuckle as their foreheads rested together, and her gaze softened. “It’ll be the loneliest in a while. Who’s gonna make fun of Jefferson’s new, ridiculous, gaudy suit with me?”

She hummed her agreement as she cuddled into his side, sniffing and stifling a yawn. “I’ll miss you too.” She let out a soft sigh as he wrapped an arm around her, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the domesticity of the scene, bouncing Philip on her hip. For a moment there was only tender quiet, and none of them seemed to come to until Eliza quietly mumbled, “You should bring Y/N instead.”

He raised an eyebrow, redirecting his gaze from Eliza’s tired form to our rather surprised heroine. “That’s actually not a bad idea. You wanna come?”

Her eyes widened as she realized that yes, the invitation was unmistakably directed at her. “To what, exactly?”

A soft chuckle escaped him at how suspicious she looked, brow furrowed tentatively, and he carded a hand through his hair. “Right, I forgot we hadn’t told you about that.”

“Washington’s having a gala,” Eliza piped up, sleep thick in her voice, “It’s to celebrate the start of his last year before the next election.”

“And why invite me?”

Alex sighed. “I love George, but _God_ is it impossible to throw a good party when you’re the president.” He pursed his lips, rolling his eyes at the memory. “It’s always just dry diplomats and politicians. I wouldn’t last the night alone.”

Y/N hesitated, lips pressed into a thin line as she considered him; Eliza was quickly falling asleep on his shoulder, and he just stared up at Y/N expectantly, his expression holding no trace of a joke. “Tonight?”

“Tonight,” he confirmed, nodding. “It’s black tie, but if you don’t have anything to wear, you can just wear the dress Eliza was planning on.”

“I have a dress,” she said quickly, many details of the night still giving her pause. She shifted Philip on her hip. “Would I even be welcome? Like, bringing your wife to a government event is one thing, but–”

“You’d be more than welcome,” he assured her with a laugh, his easy smile doing just a bit to ease her nerves, “Don’t worry about it. They’ll all love you, it’ll be a fine time, you’ll be fine.” Her worries were apparently written across her face, if how he was responding was anything to go by, and he waited a beat before asking, “Are you in?”

She took a deep breath. “What time should I be ready?”

“I can be by to pick you up at seven.”

“More like your driver will be by to pick me up,” Y/N snickered.

“Listen I _have_ to have a security detail, I’m a cabinet official, and I–”

“How many people have tried to assassinate the Secretary of the Treasury, literally ever?”

“It’s an _important job–_ ”

“I’ll be ready at seven.” She raised her eyebrows, amused and waiting for him to challenge her. He rolled his eyes.

“See you then.”

* * *

 _ **“WHAT COLOR IS** your dress?” _Alex demanded over the phone, voice coming out in a rush of static as Y/N had him on speaker, still putting the finishing touches on her makeup.

Getting ready on the fly had proved to be more of a challenge than she expected, having rushed home from Alex and Eliza’s, had to quickly deal with the newest scoop on Angelica’s love life – _He’s wealthy and sweet but is he right for me??? –_ and still made time to shower and do her hair and makeup. (The sound of her hair sizzling under a flat iron before it was entirely dry had made her cringe; it was an occupational hazard she wasn’t entirely willing to deal with, ultimately deciding to let it air dry.)

She pursed her lips as she looked in the mirror.

“Green,” she answered simply. “Why?”

“ _I’m trying to find a tie that matches,”_ he said, exasperation just distinguishable from her side of the line. “ _What green? Kelley green? Emerald?”_

She shrugged before remembering he couldn’t see her and considered it for a moment. “More like a forest green.”

A small noise of frustration came through in a crackled huff, and she could hear his hangers squeaking against the rod in his closet. “ _Alright. That’ll work.”_

She laughed lightly at his reply as she slid on her favorite pair of gold earrings. “It better work, ‘cause that’s what you’re working with. Will you still be here at seven?”

“ _You bet_.”

* * *

 **HE PULLED UP** in front of her apartment complex at seven o’ _six_ , a number she would continue to dote on for the rest of the night, in a rather official, tinted-window, black government van.

It was seven o’ _seven_ when she saw the text letting her know he was outside, and it wasn’t until seven _thirteen_ that she finished hobbling down the stairs in her favorite pair of heels, having clung to the railing going a mile per hour the entire way down. (The elevator was broken, what would you expect her to do, walk barefoot? In the disgusting stairwell? She would have winced at the idea.)

She smoothed out the front of her floor-length dress as she took a deep breath, suddenly feeling very self-conscious as she walked out the door of her building’s lobby. Was her neckline too low? Should she have covered up more? Did she look too slutty to be at a state dinner? The Italian diplomats _surely_ didn’t show this much skin.

She tugged at the straps on her shoulders as she approached the car Alex was in, silently willing it to hide her from any judgment or insecurity about being at such an event. (It was quite an ask of just a fancy dress, though she supposed some of the responsibility also went to the gold necklace that fell just above her hemline and the heels that made her legs look as shapely as ever.)

Alex rolled down the window with a grin, not even bothering to get out of the car to greet her. “Hey. You look nice.”

She’d known him for years and was more than used to his antics by then, but still, she rolled her eyes. “What a gentleman.” As she let herself into the backseat of the car, sliding into the leather seat beside Alex as the door fell shut with a click, she gave him a second glance. “You don’t look so bad either. Would never have guessed you spent your morning in a petri dish of disease.”

He only chuckled. “Are you making fun of me for taking care of my family?” Her smile widened.

“Only a little.”

The pair bickered good-naturedly for most of the ride there, the teasing gaining fervor when Y/N learned he had only started getting ready ten minutes before coming to pick her up. Realistically, that much had been clear since he called her about his tie five minutes before he left, but that didn’t dissuade her from taking advantage of the information.

Her nerves had thus far tamed themselves, but when they pulled up to the steps of the White House and were ushered through with smiles and recognition, she could feel her heart begin to jump into her throat. _What had she been thinking, accepting his invitation? She didn’t belong here; her job was to critique the government, not working in it._

“Cool it, Y/N.” Alex gave her a look between worried and skeptical, brows furrowed and eyes wide. She wondered briefly if her emotions were painted _that_ blatantly across her face. “There’s no issue with you being here; you’re my guest.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever, I’m fine. It’s no biggie, just a dinner, right?”

 _Now_ his expression was skeptical. “Yeah? You’re fine?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Every muscle in your body is tensed right now.”

“It’s the strain of walking in these heels. You wouldn’t understand.” She earned herself a dramatic scoff at that one, and couldn’t conceal her resulting grin as he lead her through the different rooms of the building to where the dinner was apparently being held.

“Right,” he said, tone dry. He glanced over at her as he walked, the stress hadn’t faded from her expression, and his gaze softened, if only momentarily. “Hey, you know this is gonna be fine, right?”

The unimpressed look she gave was all the answer he needed, reaching out to give her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “I promise. Everyone brings the most random plus-ones to these, for whatever reason. Last year someone brought their son’s kindergarten teacher, so now no one gives any unexpected guests a second glance.”

“Alright,” she sighed, leaning on the railing in her impractical footwear as they began up a flight of stairs. “I just… I’m worried that my being with the press will make it a different story.”

He chuckled. “So long as you stop short of whipping out a notebook and full-on interviewing Jefferson in the middle of the ballroom, don’t sweat it.”

“You just want me to give up an exclusive? Just like that?” The look she shot him was playfully offended, and his grin grew. “I don’t feel like you support my career, Alexander.”

He rolled his eyes, an amused smile still playing at his lips. “Unfortunately, I’ll put your success just below my still having a job in the government.”

“You’re no fun.”

The state dining room was more the size of a ballroom, as Y/N realized when she entered on Alex’s arm. Secretaries and politicians, diplomats and economists swarmed the room, all discussing matters she could hardly begin to skim the surface of; everyone there was certainly more important than she – at least, that was all she could hear running through her mind as she saw the fancy dresses and sharp suits of the other attendees. She suddenly felt very small.

She took a shaky breath, hoping Alex wouldn’t notice her swelling nerves. “Alright, where to?”

“There are a few people I’ve been wanting you to meet.” The sentence was presented innocently enough, but there also lay a glint in his eye that Y/N couldn’t quite place the intention behind.

“Oh yeah?” Alex ignored the skepticism in her tone, as well as the question altogether as his eyes scanned the fluid crowd before him. Y/N huffed. “Like who, exactly?”

He glanced back at her with a grin as he started toward the wall to their right, beckoning for her to follow. “Just old friends. I have a feeling you’ll like them.”

She raised an eyebrow but followed him nonetheless, far from sure about what to expect from this. She had to dodge to avoid running head-on into people who looked like they could sue her for all she was worth as he zigzagged through the crowd, and trying to keep up with Alex was quickly giving Y/N a headache. He glanced back just as she slipped by the Secretary of Education, casting her a wary glance as she hurried to join her friend.

“ _Christ,_ Alex.” She paused after reaching him to adjust her heels, leaning on him for support as she scowled at the red lines that dug into her skin. “Slow down, will you? Where are we going, anyway?”

“Have you met John?” He continued trying to pull her along, even as she hopped and hobbled, trying to put her shoe back onto her foot. She shrugged.

“Laurens?”

“That’s the one.” His words came distracted over his shoulder as his gaze continued to dart around the quadrant of the room he’d finally reached. His eyes fixed on the man in question, he smiled. “Have I introduced you?”

“Yeah, once or twice,” she said, finally finding exactly who it was they were looking for. “Only in passing, though. Don’t think I’ve ever actually had a conversation with the guy.”

He ushered her over in a hurry, and she stumbled behind him, preoccupied with ensuring the neckline of her dress didn’t dip too far down in her haste.

“John!” Alex called to him once they were just within earshot. The man in question turned with a raised brow, before breaking into a grin upon seeing his friend. They finally reached where he was standing, and Alex immediately released Y/N in favor of pulling John into a bear hug.

“It’s been a minute,” he said as he pulled away, his smile soft. “How’ve you been? How’s Martha?”

“She’s great. We’re great, really.” John’s tone was earnest as he looked back down at Alexander. “What about Eliza? Philip?”

“They’re well. You’d be surprised how much Philip is growing up to look like you,” he chuckled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought you were the father.”

“If you didn’t know better,” John repeated, amused smile tugging at his lips. A pregnant pause followed his words before he cleared his throat, taking a brief glance at Y/N standing stiffly beside them, and took a small step back to address her. “It’s Y/N, right? We’ve definitely met before.”

He shook her hand spiritedly, giving her a lopsided grin that couldn’t help but elicit one of her own. “Yeah, for sure. It’s good to see you.”

“You as well.” The warmth in his voice and his gaze seemed to be genuine as he glanced between Y/N and Alex. “Remind me how you two know each other?”

“She’s Angie’s college friend, and now her roommate.” He bumped elbows with Y/N, and she raised an amused eyebrow. “We’ve been pretty good friends for years now.”

“Well, I’m glad you could make it, Y/N. I was disappointed to hear Eliza was feeling too bad, but you’re an alright substitute when push comes to shove.” He shot her a playful wink with his words, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“The stand-in could never be as good as the original, I’m afraid.” She grinned. “Anyway, if I were Eliza, I’d also have to be attracted to this one.” Y/N shot Alex a disdainful glance, and while he rolled his eyes, John’s smile only grew.

“Alright, you two, I need a drink before I can deal with any more of this tonight.” He sounded exasperated, but his smiling eyes told a different story. He turned to Y/N. “Can you find us somewhere to sit?”

She briefly turned back to his friend. “Any open seats at your table, John?”

“An abundance.”

“Then I’ve got it covered, Lex.” She grinned, and he just rolled his eyes.

“Fine.” He shook his head, playing up the dramatics of it all as a small smile still tugged at his lips. “You want anything while I’m gone?”

“Whatever you’re having is good.” She shrugged. “Open bar?”

He gave her a mischievous smile as he began his route toward the side of the room. “Nah, you’re treating.”

“What do you mean, I’m treating?” she called after him, indignant, but he’d already moved on, well within earshot but no longer listening. She scowled, turning to John. “How have you put up with him for even longer than I have?”

“Plenty of liquor,” he answered, amusement dancing through his expression. “Got any healthier secrets for me, though?”

She scoffed. “If I knew, I’d tell you.” Her gaze flickered around the room, concurring with her lighthearted answer as she tried to find the open table John had mentioned. “Where are we sitting?”

“Follow me.” His grin was wide as he beckoned her toward the round table he’d sat down at earlier. A few of the seats were populated, but the table wasn’t nearly half full yet.

“So, how do you know President Washington?” Y/N asked. She knew this dinner was for close associates and important relations of his (and, well, their wives’ sisters’ roommates, in her case), and had never been sure from their few encounters quite what John did.

“I was a soldier under him in the war,” he answered, scratching the back of his neck. She didn’t have to ask what war he was referring to. The conflict with Britain that had stretched to France and other allied world powers had shaken the international community to its core, the American people in particular. It was the worst national confrontation since the Cold War, Vietnam, Korea, or Afghanistan be damned.

She had only just been old enough to follow the war when it broke out, reading the news on her doorstep before her parents could stop her, smuggling it to her eighth-grade classroom to be informed in peace (or really, in war). The memory of its gruesomeness still looming, Y/N nodded, brows knit.

The silence from her seemed to make him uneasy, and the grin once again returned to his face. “Don’t worry about it, though. I didn’t see too much of the combat. For most of the years, I was only a camp aide.”

“'Camp aide’,” a voice to their left scoffed. Both their heads turned, and John’s eyebrows immediately shot up. “More like "war hero,” do not let 'im lie to you.“

"What ever happened to humility, Laf?” John shot back, and Y/N’s eyes widened, caught between the obvious familiarity of the two men.

“I 'ave never been humble, and look where it 'as gotten me.” The man speaking seemed as animated as John, with skin a deep brown and curls that bounced as he laughed, tied back into an untidy bun.

“What, across the ocean from the country you’re supposed royalty in?”

“Royalty,” he snorted. “Please. Try, disgraced and banished.”

John only smiled. pulling him into a hug as he stood up from the table to greet him. “Right, and that’s how you got the job as ambassador to the states?”

The other man flashed him a white-toothed grin as they broke apart. “Something like that.” As John pulled away, allowing him to return to his seat, he raised an eyebrow at Y/N, glancing back to John expectantly. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your _belle amie_?”

Y/N didn’t speak a whole lot of Portuguese, but she was fairly sure the first word he’d used meant pretty – or was it French? Maybe Italian?

John gave him a look she couldn’t read before saying, “She’s Hamilton’s friend Y/N. His sister-in-law’s roommate.”

He smiled behind the rim of the glass he’d returned to, turning to Y/N. “Très heureux, Y/N. Je m'apelle Gilbert, friends call me Lafayette.” He paused, drinking in her mildly amused expression, and set down his glass, saying, “Take your pick.”

“It’s a pleasure, Lafayette.” She shook his hand as her eyes scanned the table at which he sat; John had taken a seat next to Lafayette while he and she were getting acquainted, and the far half of the chairs seemed largely abandoned. John beckoned her over to the empty seat by him as she withdrew from his friend.

She pulled out the seat next to him (making a mental note to keep a chair open for Alex, whenever he returned), and turned back to Lafayette, smoothing out her dress beneath her. “So what is it you do?”

The question was clearly addressed to him; he’d caught her eye almost the moment she sat down. “I am ze French ambassador to ze United States. I work out of ze Quai d'Orsay?”

Based on how he was looking at her, she supposed what he said was supposed to mean something to her. Unfortunately, his words hadn’t fallen on deaf ears, but on stupid ones. His smile was almost sympathetic. “Ze French state department.”

“Ah!” _Finally,_ in _English._ “That sounds incredible. What do you do as an ambassador?”

“Mostly attend parties and meet beautiful women.” His quick response caught her off guard, and while he remained the picture of nonchalance, she felt heat rushing to the back of her neck. Her eyebrows shot up.

“Sounds… like a good job.” She couldn’t help but swallow harshly. The implication behind his words made her heartbeat pick up, but despite it, her timid smile grew.

“It certainly is.” His gaze had zeroed in on her by then, yet she couldn’t decide whether it was a good thing as his eyes narrowed, as though scrutinizing her expression in its entirety alongside his playful grin. In the left of her peripheral vision, John raised an eyebrow. “In fact–”

“Would you mind if we joined you?” It was much to his chagrin that Lafayette was cut off before he could take it further; however, it was much to Y/N’s relief. Her heart had already jumped nearly to her throat. She turned to face the voice to the right of her.

“Was there nowhere else to sit?” John addressed Mr. Madison and his wife before Y/N could, a cold undertone in his words. His response raised a few eyebrows, though it was annoyance from James where surprise from Y/N. His wife eyed John with alarm.

“We’d _hoped_ to be seated among friends–” His eye contact with Lafayette at that was pointed, and his expression spelled out unspoken apology. “But if we’re not wanted–”

“Please, stay.” Y/N sent John a questioning look as she cut James off. Her expression turned immediately kind as she met his eyes, seeing how startled his wife appeared. “I could use a few more people who don’t resent me just for who I’m here with.”

“Thank you, _Y/N_.” Though he did address her, his words seemed more so directed toward John. He paused as he reached for the chair next to her. “I assume this is where your company is seated?”

“Yeah, Alex is just off getting drinks.” Surprise painted his features as he pulled out a seat for his wife, exchanging a gentle glance before giving Y/N a questioning look.

“You’re here with Secretary Hamilton?”

“Yeah, he’s an old friend.” She couldn’t quite read his expression but knew at least that she felt out of place with how he was looking at her. She shifted in her seat. “Will that… be a problem?”

The hesitation in her words didn’t go unnoticed, and he responded with a warm smile, calming her momentary qualms. “No, of course not. Hamilton is a friend of mine, as well. I was just wondering how you knew him.”

“Through his sister-in-law, actually.” The words left her with a chuckle, feeling awkward to have to explain her chance connection. “She’s been my roommate for a long time, and I’ve gotten to know Alex and Eliza through her.”

Upon noticing his head still cocked to one side, she added, “His wife is sick, so he invited me as a plus-one just for the hell of it.”

James laughed at that, taking a sip of his wine. “I’m glad he brought you, of all people.”

“So am I, to be honest.”

He was shaking his head as he set down his glass, smoothing out invisible creases in his jacket as he glanced back to his right. “Hey, Dolley, I don’t suppose you’ve met Y/N?”

“Not in this lifetime, anyway.” Her eyes were soft as she leaned across the table to shake Y/N’s hand. “I’m Dolley, James’s wife. I’d hug you properly if we were standing, but just know that it’s implied.”

A laugh tumbled from Y/N’s lips, her grin lingering as she ultimately withdrew her hand. “Hug noted and accepted. It’s great to meet you, Dolley.”

“Y/N is a writer for the Washington Post. She’s covering Thomas’s campaign trail.” Dolley’s eyes widened at his words.

“Y/N L/N?” She nodded, and Dolley’s features relaxed as recognition set in. “Ah, I thought I recognized you from somewhere. I’ve read a lot of your stuff pre-campaign; you’re a great writer.”

Y/N beamed back at her. She’d decided almost immediately that she liked Dolly, but that certainly confirmed it. “Thank you so much, that’s so sweet of you.”

“I do feel sorry for you, though.” She shook her head with a huff as she took a long sip of her wine. Y/N’s brow knit with concern. “Stuck reporting about Thomas for the next, what, year? Let me know if you need me to cover your therapy costs afterward, dear.”

“Careful what you promise, I may just take you up on it,” Y/N retorted, and Dolly laughed.

“You were right, James, she is funny.” Her husband turned to look at her wide smile with a soft one of his own, subtle adoration resting in his eyes as she hung onto his arm. They were an unlikely pair, Y/N thought as she watched them, their personalities worlds apart, but they seemed to work so well. She couldn’t help but wonder how they’d ended up together.

She didn’t ruminate long, though, as James lifted an arm to wave across the room, motioning with a smile for someone she couldn’t see to join them.

She turned back to Lafayette and John where they’d been discussing the country’s terms of alliance with France. She couldn’t have cared less about it, quite frankly, but the Madisons’ attention was clearly elsewhere, and she wasn’t inclined to isolate herself and stare at the table.

Her facade of interest didn’t last; the person in question finally reached their table and it would have been impossible for Y/N not to recognize him. Her head whirled around, pulse quickening even as she heard him greeting James. _Just_ her luck. He dipped down to kiss Dolley on the cheek, acting sickeningly familiar with the couple, after pulling James into a hug. His interactions with them were uncharacteristically genuine, in her opinion, and he pulled out the chair next to Dolley to join them at their table, still chatting animatedly with the pair.

It wasn’t until Jefferson caught Y/N’s eye that she realized she’d been staring, and _caught_ staring, too. His movements slowed momentarily, surprised gaze meeting her alarmed one almost directly across the table, and he raised an eyebrow, expression easing into one of amusement,as if to say, _l_ _ook what we have here._

She blinked, eyes wide.

“Thomas!” Dolley’s excited exclamation took them both by surprise, and they quickly broke the gaze they’d held just a moment too long. Heat threatened to fill Y/N’s cheeks despite her fighting it down; she fixed her eyes to the red tablecloth before her. Of _all_ people who could’ve shown up to her table, it had to be him. “Have you met Y/N?”

Her heart nearly jumped into her throat as Dolley broke her train of thought, having been expecting (or really, _hoping_ ) not to be dragged into the conversation. Her gaze snapped upwards.

Dolley seemed oblivious to her reaction, though, reaching across the table to squeeze Y/N’s forearm with a wide smile. She could only manage a weak one in return. There was a skip as Jefferson met her eyes, his brow raised, and she was painfully aware of every little movement she made.

Finally, Y/N answered for him, turning to Dolley, “Yeah, we’ve run into each other once or twice.” She winced inwardly at how breathless she sounded.

“Twice.” She was surprised to hear Thomas chime back in, hoping to just let the subject drop, and he was just on the wrong side of self-contented as her wide eyes found his.

“Oh, really?” Y/N could see Dolley glancing between them out of the corner of her eye, and she swallowed, throat tight. “When did you meet?”

“Just a few campaign events, nothin’ too exciting.” Though his words were directed at Dolley, his gaze was still fixed on Y/N, and while she swallowed thickly, James laughed.

“'Nothing too exciting.’ Care to tell us the story of how you almost ran her over, Thomas?”

“You _what_?” Dolley’s reaction was immediate and incredibly expressive. Her eyes widened as she looked at the man in question. “Now you’re on the hook, Jefferson. What’s the story?”

His smile mellowed out as Y/N was either too afraid or too stubborn to be the one to break his gaze – or somewhere between the two – despite that her heart was pounding all the way down to her toes with how he looked at her. “Just a bit of a logistical mix-up.” He grinned as he turned to Dolley, breaking the prolonged eye contact. “I happened to be tryin’ to drive in the same place that she was tryin’ to walk.”

“And he almost hit you, Y/N? Where was this?” Dolley seemed to be enjoying the revelation, laughing, and Y/N had to conclude she was planning on giving Thomas hell for this. She sighed.

“Oh, just off in one of the alleyways between buildings downtown where cars aren’t supposed to go.” She shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. She’d begun to enjoy this now that it had been turned on him. “Y'know, over where he regularly violates traffic laws.”

“Oh _really?”_ James raised an acute eyebrow at Jefferson. “I seem to have missed this part of the story, funnily enough.”

“What, was that part conveniently left out when you heard the story, James?” Y/N wore a look of falsified innocence as she looked over at him, and he sighed.

“It seems to have been.” He moved his annoyed gaze from Jefferson to Y/N, glare easing as he looked over at her. “You really should’ve pressed charges, y'know.”

She grinned, hardly stifling a laugh at his words, and raised her glass in agreement. “Don’t tempt me; I still might.”

He laughed, taking a sip of his own wine as he considered her, eyes shining.

Dolley chose that moment to pipe back in, smile inquisitive as she laid a hand on James’s forearm. “So, how did your close call with manslaughter turn into you two meeting? Did you not just, I dunno, keep driving?”

Jefferson grinned at that, turning his full attention back to Y/N. “You wanna answer that one, Y/N?”

“Hard pass.” Her teeth were gritted as she met his eyes, and he chuckled.

“That was when she blackmailed me into givin’ her an interview for her article,” he explained, tone matter-of-fact, but mischief danced in his smile. She pursed her lips.

“I mean, otherwise the article would’ve been about how the Secretary of State has no respect for the law.” She had to keep her expression in check with how amused he looked. Anger at this point would do her no good. “Almost hitting an innocent pedestrian wouldn’t do much for your campaign; you should consider yourself lucky.”

“Oh, I do.” Jefferson no longer seemed to be talking about the article, though, his smile bordering on predatory as his eyes bore into hers. Her glare set in with how he was looking at her. He continued, expression easing into nonchalant amusement, “You’re doing wonders for my Twitter following.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re popular online.” She plastered on a sarcastic smile, and frustration radiated off of her in waves. The tension between the two was palpable. “But don’t expect to gain anything more from me, Secretary Jefferson. The Washington Post sends you _all_ their best.”

A beat passed as he held her gaze, his smile becoming smug as his eyes narrowed. “Now, what happened to 'Thomas’?”

Her jaw ticked, despite the thrill that ran down her spine with the edge to his words, as his stare seemed to be burning into her own. How much humor he seemed to find in the situation had her fuming; she had to attribute it to anger when her breath caught at the words.

She held her tongue for a moment, only stared at him, brows raised in livid disbelief, and just when she didn’t think she could stop herself from lunging across the table to yank Jefferson by his _obviously_ expensive necktie–

Alex cleared his throat behind Y/N, making her almost jump in her seat. Her heart beat a tattoo against her chest, and Alex looked suspicious as he took the seat to her right.

Now it was him holding Jefferson’s gaze, the tension between the two men even stronger yet, with their scowls perfectly mirrored and with both their jaws clenched.

“Picked you up a gin, dry.” He didn’t turn to face Y/N, despite that it was her he was addressing. He appeared too busy staring daggers into Jefferson’s expectant expression, all but ready to risk his job if it meant taking a good, hard swing at him.

“Thank you, Alex.” It irked her that Jefferson looked so smug, especially so needlessly, but it clearly annoyed Alex more than only a bit more, and she knew she needed to diffuse whatever sexually charged staring contest was taking place before her. She took the glass from Alex, resting a hand on his forearm until he turned to look at her. “How much do I owe you?”

Though she didn’t see it, Jefferson raised his eyebrows at him across the table, disdain looming in his surprise. Alex sent him a glare, saying, “Don’t worry, I’ll cover it.”

“You sure?” Her brows shot toward her hairline; he still seemed preoccupied, but any generosity from him was new to her. “Thought you said I was paying for drinks tonight.”

Alex _certainly_ didn’t care for the judgment in Jefferson’s eyes. He met it with a scowl, sending a shameless glare across the table before he pulled off a smile, turning back toward her. “Seriously, no worries. You’re my guest.”

There was suspicion deep-set in the words she had to force down, glancing between him and Jefferson; instead, she opted for saying, “Thank you.”

There was a tense pause as she brought the glass to her lips, desperately wanting not to be the one who broke it.

“So, Thomas, how’s your campaign going?” Dolley’s endearing voice again chimed in, and Y/N was torn between being grateful for her breaking up the unspoken standoff between him and Alex, and groaning inwardly as Jefferson began to speak again. And it didn’t seem like he planned to stop for a while.

Sighing, she threw back a heavy sip of her gin. It could be a long night.

* * *

 **“I CANNOT BELIEVE** I agreed to come here,” Y/N huffed, her teeth gritted and glare dark. She’d dragged Alex away from the table for her third glass of wine (she’d switched from gin after two glasses, having decided early in the night that even Jefferson wasn’t worth the hangover). She groaned as she slumped against the bar. He didn’t have to ask what was bothering her.

“You’re being dramatic.” He lifted himself onto one of the barstools next to her, rolling his eyes, and she scowled as she met his exasperated gaze. “I _work with him._ I’ve had to deal with this almost every day for years.”

She furrowed her brow. “Good point. How are you not dead on your feet?”

He grinned. “That’s assuming I’m not. Haven’t you been paying attention?”

She swung around on the stool as she snorted, took a long sip of her drink before leaving it on the counter, and hopped to her feet. “Good point. Wanna buy me another before we head back?”

“Buy it yourself, L/N.”

“I thought you said you were paying tonight.” Y/N plastered on a pout in an effort to stifle the smile that threatened to break through. “'Least, that’s what you said when _everybody else_ was around.”

“I paid for your ticket.”

“I didn’t have a ticket!”

“Beside the point.”

She scowled, rolled her eyes as she turned back to the bar. “Excuse me?” She shot Alex a final glare as the bartender turned to face her. “May I have a glass of your most expensive red, please? Whatever will do.” She flashed him her widest smile, but he just sighed. Apparently working state dinners takes quite a bit out of you.

Alex quirked a brow at her while the bartender went to grab her a drink, and she only shrugged.

“Cash or credit, ma'am?” She turned back to him with the same sweet smile.

“Just put it on my tab, please. It’s under the name Thomas Jefferson?”

“Will do.” He turned away once again, and Alex let out a surprised huff of laughter.

“And I thought you were about to charge it to me.” His expression was amused, though impressed as she faced him, looking rather self-contented.

“Why would I ever do something like that Alex?” She couldn’t stifle her grin as she took a sip of her drink. “You did pay for my ticket, after all.”

He chuckled. “Of course.”

She leaned back on the bar, hesitant to return to their table as she savored the taste of her overly-expensive drink. The atmosphere in the room was warm; she didn’t feel nearly as uncomfortable as she had when she entered, yet it exhausted her more than anything. She sighed, brushing a loose hair away from her face.

“Two whiskey sours.” Her train of thought was broken abruptly, though, as an unmistakable voice came from her right, and her eyes widened, turning toward the source.

She turned back to Alex with urgency written across her expression. “Alex,” she hissed. “That’s John Adams.”

He raised an eyebrow. “It sure is.”

“Do you know him? Can you introduce me?” She couldn’t understand how his enthusiasm wasn’t matching her own, him only folding his arms disinterestedly.

“Yeah, he’s a good friend.” He pushed himself off the bar, before pausing. “Why?”

She rolled her eyes, suppressed an exhausted groan. “Alex. I’m a reporter. On politics. In _Washington._ Knowing the vice president could be a game-changer for my career. Do you have his number?”

“Get it yourself.” Her steely glare broke through his annoyed expression, and he huffed. “Yes. Fine, I’ll introduce you.”

Just as he turned, though–

“Hamilton!” John Adams’s jovial voice called a few feet down the bar at him, beckoning him over, and YN’s eyes lit up. She had to stop herself from sprinting the, maybe, _two yards_ to her right as Alex escorted her over, though her expression still read as starstruck. “How’s it going?”

“It’s been worse.” Alex’s grin grew to match Adams’s, and he grabbed his hand, pulling him in for an amiable hug. “What about you? How’s the last year of vice presidency going so far?”

“Couldn’t ask for better, with Jefferson officially leaving our cabinet.” The two men shared a knowing look, satisfaction obvious as Alex withdrew, holding Y/N’s shoulder.

“I can say for sure that it won’t be the same without him.”

Adams snorted, just as his wife emerged from behind him, having grabbed their drinks from the bartender. He accepted his whiskey with a quick 'thank you’ and a kiss on the cheek, before turning back to Alexander and Y/N. “Hey, have you met my wife, Abigail?”

“Don’t believe so.” He leaned in to shake her hand with a warm smile. “Alexander Hamilton. I’m the one who keeps the country from going broke.”

“Abigail Adams. I’m the one who keeps the family from going broke.” She gave a wry smile as she pulled away, and John scoffed.

“Right. Mr. Vice President over here isn’t much of a breadwinner.”

“Mm, but he _is_ quite a bread _spender_.” Abigail grinned, looking pleased with herself as she looped her arm back through John’s, but he just rolled his eyes.

“And you’ve met my wife Eliza before, but this is our friend Y/N.” Y/N reached out to shake both their hands, trying to contain the awed look in her eyes. “Eliza’s at home sick with our son, but I didn’t want to spend all evening lonely with our other _lovely_ administration members.”

“Tell me about it,” John laughed. “It’s great to meet you, Y/N.”

“You as well, Vice President Adams. I’m… a bit of a fan, to be quite candid. You’ve done some incredible things throughout your career.”

He let out a soft 'aww’, as he pulled back from shaking her hands, waving her praise away absently. “Oh, please, it’s John. A friend of Alex’s is a friend of mine. And I can assure you, I’m a lot more impressive on paper.”

 _“Take him at his word on that,”_ Abigail added, leaning in with urgency, her tone falsely serious. “He means, like, a _lot_ more impressive on paper. Like, _miles_ from reality.”

“They get it, love.”

“Just trying to assist your point.” The couple shared a pleased look, both their eyes shining, and Y/N had to grin.

“It’s incredible to meet you, too, Mrs. Adams. I’m sure you’re just as impressive in reality as you are on paper.”

“She is,” John piped in, and Abigail laughed.

“You both flatter me.” She rolled her eyes, despite the grin playing at her lips. “And the pleasure really is all mine, Y/N. How do you two know each other?” She glanced between her and Alex.

“We actually go a ways back.” She looked over at Alex, brow furrowed as she recalled. “I’ve been his sister-in-law’s co-worker for number of years, and since we’ve been roommates, I’ve gotten to know Alex and Eliza pretty well.”

“Where do you work, Y/N?”

“I’m a writer for the Washington Post, actually.” She bit her lip, not sure of how much to say, nor of whether she could play this into gaining a contact. “I report on politics, and was actually just promoted to my current position covering federal affairs.”

“The Washington Post?” Abigail asked, “You wouldn’t happen to be the same Y/N who follows the Jefferson campaign, would you?”

She sighed, hung her head with a tired smile. “Don’t remind me.”

Her words elicited a collective laugh, before John piped in, “I’ve read your articles, actually. You’re a great writer; it’s scathing stuff.”

“Hey, _I_ might be biased, but my writing is just the facts.” She held up her hands in defense. “But thank you, so much. I can’t say how much it means to hear you say that.”

“Can’t help if it’s true.” He shrugged with a grin before pausing. “Say, are you on his campaign all the way up until the election?”

“That I am. Gotta love long-term assignments.”

“'Course you do.” He grinned. “Can I… give you my card, have you reach out to me if you ever need a contact on anything? Just, y'know, as a concerned citizen who’d rather not see Jefferson in office.”

Her brows shot toward her hairline as he reached into his coat pocket, glancing over at Alex in her shellshocked state. “I… Yes, of course! That’d be incredible.”

“Good.” John handed her his card with a wink. “Please don’t hesitate to reach out. Our democracy depends on it.”

She laughed. “Don’t I know it.”

* * *

 **SHE SPENT THE** rest of her evening back at the table trying to make getting wine-drunk off of fancy aged merlot seem as classy as possible, hoping it wasn’t obvious when she snuck over to the bar for another (fourth) glass of gin instead. It was unclear whether the stuffy, formal atmosphere was getting to her head or if it was just the liquor, but her strained smile was beginning to melt into fatigue. She needed a rest.

Her patience was running thin as she forced a laugh at something someone had said. She wasn’t sure who anymore, let alone what they said, but everyone else was laughing. Her regard for appearing out of place was waning as well.

Her tired hand fell to Alex’s forearm on the table, giving it a gentle squeeze to get his attention.

“Hey, it alright with you if I go get some air?” She leaned in as she asked, a sense of urgency in her voice, and he raised a brow.

“Are you alright?”

She strained her smile further, though it seemed only to worry him more. “Just a bit of a headache. Mind if I step out?”

“Go for it.” He gave her a worried smile as she stood from her seat, her napkin folded delicately on the table before her, the chair pushed gently out behind.

Her breathing relaxed as she turned away from the table. Her gaze darted all around and through the room; finding the nearest exit had become her first and only priority. The click of her heels against the ballroom floor melted into the clamor of the air. _Deep breath in._

She hadn’t looked back at their table as she walked, trying with everything in her to retain a calm, collected composure, and it took the full strength of her will to keep her steps straight and under control as she spotted a hallway branching out from the room. _Deep breath out._

She slipped out of the room between the mass of gorgeously-dressed bodies, sighing as she reached her first gasp of air that wasn’t polluted with pseudo-intellectualism. She lived for politics, but all in all, politicians weren’t her cup of tea.

She continued down the hall while looking for somewhere out of sight to rest. For the most part, it was just alternate hallways branching out, a labyrinth designed if only to put an ache in her feet, before she stumbled upon a series of offices. Her eyes lit up.

The first door she tried was locked, but the next was open, and she didn’t bother to look for the light switch as she stepped out of her heels. She flexed her feet in her pantyhose as she walked across the cool marble, collapsing momentarily in the chair that sat across from the desk, presumably for meetings.

She simply stretched for a moment, enjoying the solitude. Her eyes wandered across the walls before they landed on a bookcase, a little off to the side but packed to the brim with gilded titles. She glanced behind her out the office window, letting her curiosity get the best of her.

The books that day on its shelves seemed to be about any topic imaginable as she browsed the stacks, from recognizable titles – _Pride and Prejudice, Leviathan, The Second Treatise on Government –_ to slightly more obscure ones, not to mention several in French. Whoever the shelves belonged to seemed to have interesting taste. She’d have liked to discuss it with them, she thought to herself as she appreciated the heavy volume of philosophy. Not enough Kant for her liking, though.

The person had even tucked some poetry away. She almost reached out to grab a Sylvia Plath, before a leather-bound volume of T. S. Eliot’s works caught her eye. She tugged it out of its tight fit without a second thought, the beauty of the book itself getting the best of her.

The book fell open in her hand onto a particular work of his _,_ its corner dog-eared, the page marked up, and where it met the spine painfully worn. She absentmindedly ran a finger over the annotations, knowing the poem by heart but silently appreciating this mystery reader’s take on it.

The book nearly flew out of her hands, though, as she heard the door opening behind her. She jumped back where she stood, unsure how to explain to whoever this was the reason for her being there.

The light he flicked on only powered the lamp on the desk, but it was easy enough for them to make out one another’s faces. Her eyes widened.

“Y/N?”

“Thomas?!” she exclaimed, panic flooding her system, “What are you doing here?”

An amused smile settled onto his lips as he entered the room. “Oh, so it’s Thomas when we’re alone?”

“That was just on reflex, don’t take it too personally,” she scowled, snapping the book shut in her hand. “You scared me.”

“So usin’ 'Thomas’ is reflex, then, huh?” The way he raised a brow told Y/N that he was enjoying this a bit too much, and she huffed.

“What are you doing here, anyway?”

“It’s my office. Least, last time I checked.” He nodded toward the back of the sign on the window, which presumably marked the space as his own. She gaped for a moment longer, before pursing her lips, silently cursing her luck.

“God, of fucking _course_ it is.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a shuddering sigh. “Because who _else’s_ office could I have stumbled into when I had the _entire building’s_ worth of offices here.”

“Yeah, it does seem like long odds.” He shrugged, innocent expression falling across his features as he walked toward his desk. “Unless, of course, it was intentional.”

He couldn’t contain his grin as she fixed him with a withering glare. “You really think I’d choose to spend a _second_ more around you than I had to?”

“You tell me.” He smiled knowingly. “After all, you chose to spend more than a year followin’ my campaign around. Seems pretty intentional to me.”

Her huff was annoyed as she once again turned away, eyes scanning the bookshelf to try to find where she’d taken the volume from.

“What’re you readin’?”

His voice came from closer this time, trying to get a look at what she’d chosen from the shelf. She eyed him skeptically, but his curiosity seemed to be genuine.

“Your collection of Eliot poems.” She held up the book with her words, and his soft grin came in response.

“Good taste,” he commented, leaning onto the desk beside her. She raised a brow. She wouldn’t have expected him to be much for poetry, but it wasn’t an unpleasant surprise. She didn’t notice the small smile growing on her face. “Got that one as a high school graduation present. Haven’t let it out of my sight since.”

“I can tell.” She held up the book with an amused brow raised, looking at all the rips and tears, water damage and multiple spine repairs. “It’s been worn out.”

“It’s important to me.” His voice was quiet at that, even with his smile, and she felt as though she’d accidentally broken through to something she wasn’t supposed to see. A vulnerability she wasn’t meant to receive.

She held his gaze for a moment, and despite his words, he looked entirely nonchalant, and she reopened the book to the page in question, glancing briefly down at it. She bit her lip. “Why this poem?” He raised an eyebrow, and she shrugged, simply curious. “The page was bookmarked. And covered in scrawled blue ink. Seemed important.”

He chuckled, glancing down at her, and his stare was knowing as she looked back at him. “It _is_ important. May I?”

He reached for the book Y/N was still holding, and though it took her a moment, once she understood his intimation, she immediately passed it over. She had to ignore how her skin burned as her fingers brushed against his. He opened the book.

He paused a moment, running a hand over the aging marks that had been left on the page, staring fondly down at the words inscribed in what was obviously an old book. “God, I haven’t looked at this old thing since I packed it away into this bookshelf. Almost can’t remember when I forgot about it.”

With how he stared down at the book, gaze faraway and smile gentle, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like an intruder. The poetry was obviously something personal for him, and it seemed as though she was breaking an intimate moment between him and an old friend, especially with how bittersweet his smile was when he looked back up.

“The poem’s about loss. Or change.” He sighed, tugging at the corner of the paper absentmindedly. “Or leavin’. It’s gotten me through a lotta hard times; I used to read it almost every day when I first started college. Eliot always seems to know how to say what I don’t.”

“Yeah,” Y/N breathed, though breathless from the immediate proximity, “He has a way with words, huh?”

Thomas’s grin immediately returned as she spoke, him having been broken from his melancholy reminiscence, and he looked down at her with his eyes gleaming in the low light. “You a fan, sweetheart?”

She couldn’t help smiling at his words. “I have a casual appreciation.”

“And that’s why you chose this book out of the hundreds I got scattered around this office?”

Again, the laugh his tone coaxed from her was involuntary; she felt unusually comfortable with his playful demeanor ( _too_ comfortable, worryingly comfortable), and she shrugged. “Fine, call it a bit of a fixation.” He stayed quiet, just raising an eyebrow, and she hesitated, searching his expression before she continued, “I’ve been writing poetry since high school, and he was a pretty big influence on me. I actually almost got a tattoo of some of his writing when I was in college.”

“Yeah?” His smile was inviting, now, and she found _herself_ feeling vulnerable this time around. “What’d you wanna get tatted?”

“I never decided,” Y/N chuckled, before pursing her lips. “I was never decisive enough – or brave enough – to actually go through with it.”

“Shoulda done it.” Thomas moved to put the book back onto his shelf, brushing against her shoulder and leaving Y/N alone at the desk. She was glad he couldn’t see the way she shivered at the contact. “All this isn’t gonna last forever, y'know?”

“I s'pose so.” She folded her arms, grinning. She found his conviction amusing, but at the same time, his words rang true. “Maybe I’ll go back to get it done someday, live on the edge a little.”

“You should.” He turned around with that, having found somewhere to fit the book back in through his jigsaw puzzle of a shelf, and found himself nearly toe-to-toe with Y/N, where she leaned back onto his desk. Her pulse jumped, but she didn’t move.

“I dunno.” Her voice returned more quietly, unfolding her arms to prop herself up on the mahogany table. “I think I’m a little too afraid of the consequences. I don’t wanna…” She swallowed thickly at the way he looked at her, only growing closer. Her tone was measured as she continued, feeling her pulse quicken as she finished, “do something I’ll regret. I’m not a reckless person, Thomas.”

“Sounds like you need to learn how to be brave sometimes,” he chuckled. His easy nonchalance was only putting her more on edge, and she grew more and more certain that the distance between them was no mistake. “Stop worrying, let yourself live.”

She pulled her feet in closer to the table, drawing herself to her full height, and as she could’ve counted his eyelashes in the little distance between them, she was no longer sure they were talking about her tattoo.

“If you only ever focus on the consequences, you’re never gonna be able to live in the moment.” She let out a shallow breath, entire body tense. “Relax a little.” His grin was wide, the look in his eyes wolfish. She could hardly breathe.

His hand came to rest at the side of her jaw, his thumb on the slope of her chin, just below her bottom lip, and she looked up at him with undiluted anxiety in her gaze.

“Thomas.” Nerves were evident in her voice, fear mingling with anticipation, but she didn’t try to stop him, and he chuckled.

“Relax.” The word was hardly a breath as he leaned in toward her, before pausing with his eyebrows raised, giving her plenty of opportunity to push him away, tell him how out of line he was. She bit her lip, searching his eyes for some kind of a motive, but all she saw were his dark eyes blazing into her own, felt his calloused skin cradling her jaw.

She didn’t push him away.

Her eyes began to flutter shut, body slowly relaxing under his touch, and she could feel his warm breath dancing featherlight across her lips, his chest pressing against her, hips pinning her against the wooden desk. His other hand drifted down to her waist.

The next sound came from the hall.

“Thomas!”

Y/N immediately tensed, eyes wide and meeting his own panicked stare, faces still just millimeters apart. When the voice moved to a hand jiggling the brass door handle, her hands moved to his chest, frantically pushing him away to try to maximize the little distance there was between them during the little time she had. His hand had just begun to move from her cheek when Dolley burst through the door, smile wide.

Immediately, she began to look nearly as startled as they were, though she still had claim to not being in such a compromising position.

“Oh! I– Thomas.” She froze for a moment, gaping at the pair. “Y/N! I.. I’m so sorry! I, ah, didn’t mean to interrupt anything… between you two, I was just–”

“Oh, _no_ , no, no.” Y/N immediately walked Dolley’s apology back, sliding out of Thomas’s grasp as she scrambled aside. “No, I– You–” She sighed, taking a moment to regain her bearings. “This is _not_ what it looks like.”

 _It’s exactly what it looks like,_ she thought, though, jaw clenching in spite.

“No, Dolley, really, this, ah…” Thomas trailed off, looking to Y/N for assistance she didn’t know how to give. She was just as panicked as he.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dolley said, immediately trying to retreat back through the door. “I… This… I’ll forget I saw this. It’s fine.”

“No, Dolley!” Y/N lunged after her, catching the door and risking a glance backward as Thomas rushed out with them. “I swear, we were just headed out. Nothing happened, it wasn’t–”

“What were you lookin’ for me for, Dolley?” Thomas’s voice had somehow regained all of its composure, something Y/N couldn’t understand with how frazzled she felt. “I just stepped out to check on somethin’.”

Her gaze was still skeptical as she looked at him, and then spared a glance over at Y/N. “There was just someone asking about your campaign, and I figured you’d want to talk to them.” She left it at that, her voice shaky.

Y/N let them lag behind her as they walked, though, picking up her pace frantically. She wanted to remove herself from the situation as quickly as possible, and she tried to focus on finding Alex while suppressing the words which threatened to emerge in her mind.

_Thomas Jefferson had been about to kiss her._

She shuddered at the thought, taking a deep breath, trying to find some semblance of level-headedness.

_Worse yet, she had been about to let him._

The thought sunk in her chest.


	4. Hotel Stay

**Y/N SPENT THE** following days, the next weeks, focusing on herself. She was letting herself get distracted, and with that, distracted by precisely the person she was supposed to be focusing on. It felt ironic, really, but she wasn’t amused.

She spent time tapping her sources from and around the campaign trail, trying to establish a connection with other politicians who had been identified as potential candidates for the election, trying to expand her network beyond her small corner of the policy scene. (“The policy scene” was much bigger than she’d thought.)

She reached out to think tanks, to analysts, economists – she was getting a little off track, but basically, she talked to everyone with no link to the name “Jefferson,” despite the precise nature of her assignment.

Her stab at freedom from the now-former Secretary of State was to little avail. While he was the foundation of his campaign, there was enough else going on surrounding the election that she could dance around confronting him.

Yet, not for as long as she’d have liked.

She was knee-deep into finding the perfect person to cold call at Brookings when the crucial blow came.

“Y/N!” Her boss’s perpetually peppy voice rang through the hall toward her office, and our fatigued heroine looked up with a brow raised. Ashley stopped in the doorway, appearing elated. “Guess what?”

Her eyes flashed with crazed excitement, and Y/N almost didn’t want to ask what. It felt very much like a trick question.

In response to Y/N’s expectant stare, silent and unmoving, Ashley sighed and entered. “You should be a lot more excited when I come running down to your office with a ‘guess what,’ y'know.”

She sighed. “Oh, no! I’m so sorry! What ever exciting news could I be missing out on at this very moment?” Her contrived enthusiasm reeked of sarcasm, but Ashley’s spirits were too high to be quashed, and she only rolled her eyes in response.

“So, you’ve been covering the Jefferson campaign for months, right?” Apparently she was ignoring the less-than-thrilled response. Y/N nodded. “And you were out in front of it before anyone else was, right? You know more than anyone else about his platform and history.”

Grudgingly, she nodded again. “I suppose so.” She was equally unexcited to claim to know Thomas Jefferson’s past better than anyone else.

“ _And,_ he’s projected to be the Republican frontrunner.”

“The debates haven’t even started, everything could change in a night,” Y/N pointed out. “You know that.”

“You’re _right,_ the debates _haven’t_ started.” Y/N was clearly missing something. Ashley seemed to be unreasonably thrilled about the lack of pre-existing clash between the candidates. She raised a brow, and Ashley appeared to be holding back a squeal with how she was grinning. “ _But,_ the debates are only a few days from now, _s_ _o,_ I called in an old contact from NBC, and of course, they’d heard of you–” She paused for dramatic emphasis, but the anticipation wasn’t exactly killing Y/N, “ _And…_ since the Washington Post is co-sponsoring the event, they want to have you as one of the moderators for the first round of debates!”

With that, Y/N was struck silent. “They…?” She could only gape for a moment, and Ashley nodded excitedly.

“Mm-hmm. It’s against precedent, but since you’ve become the most prominent and consistent reporter covering Jefferson the past few months, they think your input would be invaluable.”

“But what about my live commentary?” she asked, still dumbstruck. Everything in her was telling her this was a bad idea; she needed to protest her way out. “I won’t be able to provide as good of coverage of the debates if I’m not taking notes and writing during them. It’ll hurt my articles. This is too big of an event not to write for.”

She knew she was rambling, but Ashley only let out a sigh, as though Y/N was being absolutely ridiculous. “Oh, come _on._ Your commentary’s more valuable on the spot if it can be used to grill the candidates and _get Jefferson to talk.”_

“'Get Jefferson to talk’? This is a debate, not an interrogation.” She blinked, visibly put-off. “Besides, it’s not like I’d be controlling the floor. I wouldn’t be doing much good anyway, and it really wouldn’t get me much notice.” She paused a moment, trying to gauge Ashley’s reaction, and swallowed. “I think I should stick to my own territory.”

“Y/N.” Her tone was firm now. “This is the biggest opportunity you’re going to get for people to notice you as a political journalist. It wasn’t easy to get you this position, and besides, you’re perfectly equipped for it. You’ve spent hundreds of hours by now researching the issues, contacting think tanks for different perspectives on them, contrasting Jefferson with the other candidates, and…” She took a thoughtful pause. “And I can’t even scratch the surface of what you’ve been spending all this time on. If anyone should be moderating, it should be you. This isn’t the time for cold feet.”

Ashley had begun monologuing, and Y/N knew right there that there was no getting out of this job. _It’s not about getting cold feet, though_ , Y/N thought, _I_ can _do it, easily._ What Ashley didn’t know, though, was that there was more there.

The growing pause following her boss’s speech was heavy with expectation, and finally, Y/N sighed, knowing she didn’t actually have a choice in the matter if she cared to keep her job.

“Fine. Should I book myself a hotel in Detroit?”

“Don’t bother. It’ll come out of company funds; it’s the least we can do.”

She sighed, turning back to her computer, closing the tab she’d just opened. “Michigan, here I come.”

* * *

 **THAT CONVERSATION HAD** taken place Monday, and, as Y/N later realized, the first round of debates were that Wednesday, so she had approximately 48 hours to pack, fly, and get situated in Detroit. That evening was a whirlwind – Ashley texted her that the flight the WaPo had booked her left at 10:00 on Tuesday morning, she immediately began her frenzied packing. Which, in turn, brings us once again to the apartment, filled with Y/N’s anguish, the hair she was tearing out with stress, and clothing strewn over the carpet’s full surface area.

“What do I _wear,_ Ang? I’m gonna be on national TV, I need to look _good_ but _so, so, so_ professional,” she wailed, looking up at her friend who was perched on the edge of her bed. Angelica gave her a sympathetic look.

“You’re overthinking it, honey,” she said, “No one’s worried with what you’re wearing, alright? It’s what you say, not what you look like.”

“But I’m…” She sighed, arms going slack along with the three different dresses she’d been holding up to the light, shoulders slumping. “I dunno, it’s just the first time I’m gonna be _that clearly_ in the public eye. When I’m writing I can just hide behind the words.”

“The time for hiding’s over.” Angelica pushed herself off the edge of the bed, joining Y/N in the garment tsunami that threatened to claim her furniture. “You got the spot with the debates because people wanna hear from you, so pick an outfit. Doesn’t matter which.”

“But it _does.”_ Y/N looked over at her weakly, everything in her expression reading dejected, from her furrowed brow to her little pout. Angelica gave her a pointed look, and she huffed. “I just… It’s not only the public, y'know? I’m also up with all the famous newscasters and the fucking Republicans, for God’s sake.”

“Since when do you care what Republicans think of you?”

“I…” She hesitated, considering herself. Angelica made a good point – since when _did_ she care? “I don’t, really. I just don’t want to look bad on national TV on my first gig where I’m… visible.”

She pursed her lips, praying the issue wouldn’t be pushed further.

Finally, Angelica huffed, beginning to pick through the pile of Y/N’s clothes, seemingly resigned to the angst that deciding one outfit had apparently proved to be. With a sigh, Y/N slumped against the footboard of her bed, her dejected stare meeting the multicolored flood piling around her ankles. She carded a hand through her now-disheveled hair as she checked her phone, unable to stifle a grin at her Twitter notifications coming from all different corners of the political compass – not to mention, now, John Adams. Her recent article on Jefferson’s voting history was blowing up.

She began to respond to a tweet, nails tapping frantically against her phone screen, and though she couldn’t see it, Angelica raised an eyebrow.

She let out a soft giggle as she read another response to her post: this time, the successive Secretary of State, his voice being behind her loud and clear. The feedback on her writing was only making her progressively giddy. Her smile curled with self-content, though, as she saw James Madison’s message about her post, sent directly to her. Angelica raised another eyebrow.

“Y/N?” Angelica’s tone bordered on cagey as it cut through Y/N’s laser focus. She looked up, eyes wide. “The concerns about your outfit wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the Jefferson campaign, right?”

“Well, of course they do.” She blinked, unable to place the intent behind the skepticism heavy in Angelica’s words. “It’s the only reason I have this gig, anyway.”

Angelica pursed her lips; apparently, that hadn’t been quite what she was asking. “Would it have anything to do with a specific _person_ from the Jefferson campaign?”

Y/N paled. _All-too-vivid_ memories of the state dinner that was now _months_ past fought their way to the forefront of her mind – her attempts to curb them hadn’t been in vain till Angelica popped the question. “I’m sorry?”

The pause that followed as Angelica examined Y/N’s look of near-panic was anything but silent, both their trains of thought threatening to derail themselves with conjecture. Angelica took in a shuddering breath.

“I just mean…” Y/N could hardly bear to meet Angelica’s wary gaze. “D'you have a thing for James Madison?”

The next beat that passed was simply stunned. Y/N could hardly conceal her laughter in a huff; she had to swallow her amusement, every nerve in her body immediately relaxing.

“ _What_ did you just ask me?” She shook her head, small grin breaking out across her lips as her shoulders slumped. Angelica didn’t look so sure. “I am not lusting over _James Madison,_ Ang. He’s literally married.”

“Marriage isn’t forever, babes.” She pinned her with a skeptical stare, to which Y/N could only laugh.

“I swear to you, Angelica. You will at no point see me trying to jump James Madison’s bones.”

“So why’d you react how you did when I asked you about the Jefferson campaign, hm?” Angelica folded her arms, plainly unconvinced, and Y/N’s breath caught. She’d supposed she was off the hook.

“What do you mean?” Y/N wished the question hadn’t come out so breathily.

“Y/N,” Angelica started, exasperated, “You’ve been messaging Madison on Twitter. You’ve met him multiple times and have spent your fair share of hours detailing to me _each_ of the times you’ve met. You were just _giggling_ at something he sent you.” She was fully deadpan by then. “You don’t need to hide it, I just want you to talk to me 'bout it.”

“I promise, it’s not that I’m in love with Madison.” Y/N’s smile as she returned to packing was meant to have been placating, but functioned as anything but. She needed to get back to packing before Angelica could press the matter. “Blue or green dress?”

“Don’t change the subject!”

“I’m not, but I’m gonna be on a plane in twelve hours!” she said, “I need to finish packing.”

“So there’s _no_ ulterior motive to how you’re approaching the Jefferson campaign?”

For a moment just long enough to evoke doubt, Y/N paused. She wasn’t inclined to reminisce on the last time she’d actually talked to anyone _from_ the Jefferson campaign, but her psyche had other priorities. A nearly undetectable chill ran down her spine – _she could still feel his heavy hands trailing down to her hips, hot breath brushing over her cheek; she could even feel the sculpt and contour of his body as it pressed against hers, muscles rippling under his stiff button-down. Her skin burned still where rough calluses had grazed her neck._

“There’s no ulterior motive, Ang.” She wanted her words to be true, fighting back a shudder as she bottled up the memory. “I swear.”

Angelica didn’t look convinced.

* * *

 **ABOUT TEN HOURS,** a mildly annoying trip through TSA (the Post had paid for her pre-check, otherwise she’d have been less forgiving of the experience – and the line), and two hours on a plane later, she rolled into her hotel lobby in Michigan, small suitcase dragging behind her. She knew she wasn’t exactly a sight to see, just off a plane at noon in her socks and sandals, her oversized sweater. She certainly wasn’t feeling as high-end as her hotel appeared to be.

The high ceilings, crown molding, and arched entryways all reeked of wealth, not to mention that the space was crawling with men and women in sharp suits, appearing as though they were on the verge of being willing to cut anyone who held them up for a moment too long. She shifted her weight uncomfortably from one Birkenstock to the other, waiting for the manager to return to the front desk so that she could check in. As she warily eyed the man marching through with a clipboard, aggression in each step, she had to wonder why the Washington Post had decided to drop here _there, o_ f all places.

She would’ve loved to disappear into her sweater, at that moment.

The manager returned to her position, looking just as sleek and professional as everyone else there, and Y/N’s appearance seemed to give her pause. “Can I help you?”

“Hi, yes, I’m here to check into my hotel room for the next three nights.” She gave the manager her warmest smile in an effort to diffuse some of her tense nature, but it was to no avail. “I’m here with the Washington Post, but I think it should be under the name L/N?”

Y/N waited a moment, trying to roll some of her post-travel soreness out of her shoulders as the manager typed away at the computer before her. She creased her brow, frowning for a moment. “Y/N?”

“That’s me,” she said, enthusiasm weak in her voice.

“Alright, you’re up in room 569, so let me get you your key.” She paused, rooting through drawers as her coworker appeared next to her, apparently taking a post at the next laptop over. She looked back up. “Alright, you should be all set,” – she slid the keys across the counter to Y/N – “but it’s still early, and I’m not sure your room’s been checked out of quite yet. Excuse me for a moment to go see about that.”

Before Y/N could say another word, she was gone, and Y/N let out a heavy sigh. It’d been a long 12 hours, and all she wanted was a proper bed and a nap. It seemed rest wasn’t what the universe had in mind for her, though.

She began checking her Twitter while she stood in wait, paying no mind to the energetic bustle of who she’d worked out to be politicians and the like, given the snippets of conversation she’d picked up standing there; however, tuning out became significantly more difficult when a familiar voice sounded next to her.

“Yes, only the next three nights. The room is registered for the surname 'Madison’.” If she couldn’t guess from his voice, his words were a dead giveaway. She looked up, and sure enough, there was the man himself. _Well, shit_.

Not only was she _painfully_ opposed to having to interact with him in her near-pajamas and slipper socks, feeling like the biggest mess she’d ever been, but she also knew that where he was, Jefferson wasn’t far behind.

She immediately busied herself with something, _anything_ on her phone, facing down and away from him in the hope that he wouldn’t notice her. She’d just pulled up a _scintillating_ article on diabetes in labradors, when–

“Y/N?” The man at the desk helping him had disappeared when she reluctantly turned to face him – busying himself with something other than helping protect her from social interaction, apparently. James, however, looked all but amused.

“Hey, James.” She did her best to return the positive sentiment he perpetually seemed to give off, but she knew it came out weaker than intended. “Should I assume I know what brings you here?”

“Should I assume that it’d be the same thing that brought you here?” He quirked an eyebrow, unable to resist eyeing her outfit. She sighed.

“That might be fair,” she conceded, small smile resting on her lips. “Is the campaign all ready for the first round of debates?”

He laughed; not a polite chuckle, but a full-bodied laugh, as though he couldn’t believe the question. “Something like that. We’ve prepared Thomas as many talking points as we could think he might need, but I’m worried _the moderators–_ ” He gave her a pointed look, wearing a knowing smile, “–may end up grilling him regardless.”

A wry smile crept onto Y/N’s face. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Word travels fast, especially from the Washington Post’s Twitter account.”

“You really are always one step ahead, hm?”

“You’re the one with the questions, last I checked.”

“Well, I’m sure _your_ campaign will be thrilled to hear them – following you is why I got the gig, anyway.” She only shrugged, despite the self-content etched into her grin.

“Oh, really?” Amusement was deep-set in his smile.

She nodded. “I’m forever grateful.”

“Grateful enough to go easy on Thomas?”

“Not quite,” she laughed, “When following his campaign makes me my first million, then we’ll talk.”

“Sounds like we’ll have to step it up, then.”

“Running on a deadline, James,” she warned him in a singsong voice, folding her arms.

“We’ll win you over by the end.” He grinned, turning back to the woman at the desk, handing her his credit card, and shot Y/N a sly glance. “Thomas _has_ always loved a challenge.”

Her stomach turned at his words for reasons she couldn’t explain, amused smile faltering for only a moment as James slid his card back into his wallet and tucked it into his coat pocket. James raised an eyebrow at her silence, her moment of hesitation.

To her delight, that was the moment the concierge returned, wearing a wide (and contrived, but that was how customer service was) smile, stepping back up to the desktop Y/N stood before.

“Alright, your room should be all set, Ms. L/N.” She returned to quickly tapping at the keyboard, before pulling out a number of brochures. “These are for room service and the various hotel amenities. Our pool is on the second floor, gym is on the third along with the spa, meeting rooms are on the fourth, and the business office is on the fifth, fully equipped with desks and printers.” She hesitated, glancing with disdain down at Y/N’s choice of travel outfit. “Are… you here on business? Or… ?”

As she trailed off, Y/N sighed, returning the less-than-candid customer service smile. “Yes, I am, actually. Thanks so much for everything.”

She nodded. “Alright! Don’t hesitate to come let us know if there’s anything else you need. There will always be someone here to help you.”

“Perfect.” She turned back to James as she folded up the brochures, shoving them into the side pocket of her purse. “Well, sounds like I’ll be seeing you around, then.”

“Thomas and I look forward to it.”

Then, the automatic doors of the lobby slid open, and a rush of cold air, as well as a grand entourage, made their way in, catching both of their attention. “Well, speak of the devil.”

At that, Y/N realized exactly why there was such a crowd, and it became immediately clear why the Washington Post had chosen _that_ hotel to set her down in, among the countless in the area. Thomas Jefferson had just entered, along with a bustling crowd of Secret Service and reporters, all orbiting him like he was the sun. He wore a broad grin, laughing and shaking hands, and Y/N stared for decidedly a moment too long, longer yet than James had. Her breath caught as Thomas looked over at her, and she found herself frozen, rooted to the spot, his gaze locked on hers.

Thomas, too, was stunned when she caught his eye. His pause was minuscule enough to be unnoticeable, hardly a fleeting glance that even Y/N didn’t think anything of, but his self-consciousness couldn’t let it go in that moment. His smile faltered for a moment, softening to become small, apologetic, and _certainly_ more sheepish than it’d ever been, all the teasing self-content drained out of it. For the first time, she returned the smile – tense, nervous, but real.

The flash of a camera broke their gaze, and the moment ended as quickly as it came.

* * *

 **Y/N CRASHED ALMOST** immediately into her hotel bed upon reaching her room; she’d had less sleep than she’d have liked during the past thirty-six hours, anxiety keeping her awake. She was shaken from her long-overdue nap, though, by her phone buzzing angrily next to her. She groaned as she recognized the number as belonging to Ashley, her boss, and declined almost immediately.

After that, though, despite her best efforts, her nap seemed to have ended, and much to her dismay. She made the mistake of instead opening her email, then, deciding productivity was the obvious cure for sleeplessness – until she opened her most recent email from Ashley. (The subject line read 'IMPORTANT, IMMEDIATE, AND URGENT.’ Got any synonyms for 'redundant’?)

The oversized, highlighted body text blared at her to the point where her eyes began to water, still adjusting to the light and _certainly_ not ready to be staring directly into all the light of the sun her boss had managed to stuff into a single communication.

 _There’s no reason to use font size 25,_ she thought, rather irked, _and highlighting every word in bright yellow goes entirely against the point of highlighting._

She could only bring herself to skim the message, but when she did, she groaned at its contents, falling back onto her hotel bed in annoyance. Thomas Jefferson was having another campaign rally, apparently, to garner support going into the debates. And she was being prodded to attend.

It was expected to be a small ordeal; the venue was modest, and around 100 people would be in attendance, maximum. So, she went. Grudgingly, with a full 30 oz cup of coffee, and in jeans and a tank top, but she went.

She showed up just over 20 minutes before the event – a town hall on his policy, as it turned out. She felt a bit out of place, the look she was rocking from her hiking boots to her disheveled post-nap bun not exactly screaming 'distinguished professional,’ but she liked to think throwing a blazer atop the whole look saved it.

The venue was small, homey – she’d read that it was generally used as a comedy club, but that the space could be rented out (obviously). Y/N figured the best use of her time there was to get to know Jefferson’s base of voters. Who were they? What did they care about? And, most importantly, how long could they keep her occupied so she never _actually_ had to speak with Jefferson?

The first person she met, though, wasn’t exactly a supporter.

She’d tucked herself into a back corner as everyone swarmed Jefferson, who was busy giving his opening remarks, but she was content just to record them, to reserve judgment for the time being (verbally, at least). She had the audio being taped, all but absentmindedly taking notes for herself for the debates. Yet, there wasn’t much substance in most of what he was saying.

“This seat taken?”

She looked up with her eyebrows raised, surprised to have been approached. What met her was the smiling face of a vaguely-familiar Democratic reporter, and eyebrow cocked in question.

“I… No! No, please sit.” She smiled, motioned to the metal folding chair beside her. “We’ve met before, right? Ben Arnold, New York Times?”

“That’s me. And it’s Y/N, yeah?” He pulled out the chair, swinging a leg around it and resting his forearms on his thighs as he looked to her. “You’re from the Washington Post, the one tracking Jefferson.”

She sighed. “That seems to be everyone’s first reaction to meeting me, hm? Jefferson’s media adversary?” Her tone was joking, but there was a certain bitterness in them at her career now being irreparably tied to Secretary Jefferson. She hoped Ben didn’t take it personally. “Yeah, you’ve got the right girl, though.”

“To be fair, you’ve become famous for digging up info on him that no one else seems to have.” He shrugged. “I’ve read some of your recent stuff, since we’re following the same campaign; hope you know you’re famous in your own right, even if it is tied to him.” He nodded toward the stage with that, just as applause broke out and Jefferson began taking questions from the crowd.

She chuckled, though it was all but mirthless. “Thanks, but I’m not so sure about that. Everyone loves gossip, and they only know me because they think I’m here to dish out the dirt on Jefferson.”

“Now, that’s not true.” She raised a brow, and he grinned. “They follow you because you _knowledgeably_ and _eloquently_ dish out the dirt on Jefferson.”

“Oh, that’s so different.” She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help her laugh at his words.

“It’s true!” he protested. “C'mon, there’s a reason the public has latched onto your coverage and not mine.”

“I dunno about that.” She pursed her lips, stifling her small smile. “I’ve read your writing. It’s _really_ good.”

“Aw, you’ve looked up my writing? I’m flattered.” He appeared touched, though mockingly, placing a hand on his heart and plastering on an exaggerated pout, causing her to laugh.

“Well, you _did_ give me your business card.”

He sighed, nodded sagely. “Ah yes, I suppose the media circus is easily Google-able, huh?”

“What can I say, clowns recognize clowns.” Her gaze drifted back toward the stage with this, turning toward Jefferson as she cast Ben a sidelong glance. The corners of her lips quirked up. “And we are all caught in _this_ circus, too.” The pointed look she gave Jefferson at that was entirely devoid of subtlety, and Ben laughed.

“Are you claiming Jefferson as part of our circus? A bold move, Y/N.”

“Good point, good point.” She leaned back in her chair with a grin. “So what are we, then? Consumers taking advantage of free entertainment?”

“I dunno, we’re making money off this circus.” He pursed his lips. “Shit, what d'you call the people who like, run the circus?”

Her eyes widened in amusement as she looked back over at him. “What, we’re the _ringmasters_?”

“Yeah, yeah, exactly!” She couldn’t keep herself from laughing at that, the idea of Jefferson as a circus freak or a traveling sideshow too comical to entertain. He cracked a grin as well, unable to take himself seriously. “C'mon, hear me out – he’s up there playing the fool, and we’re making the big bucks off of it, hm?”

“Fair enough,” she conceded, grin now chronic and apparently contagious. “Anyway, what’re you here for? Just general info from the town hall, or looking for something specific?”

“Well, I figured this was my chance to question Jefferson before the debates, y'know?” He nudged Y/N at that. “Or can I just pass my questions off to you for tomorrow, since I’ve heard you’re moderating now?”

She sighed. “Word really does travel fast when Jefferson’s name is attached, huh?”

“Or it’s because _your_ name’s attached.” She gave him a skeptical look, and he held up his hands defensively. “I’m serious! People care about what you have to say now, y'know? Given, it _is_ about his campaign, but really, it’s _your_ take on the next election that they want – it’s no longer just about him.”

Y/N had to pretend her chest wasn’t swelling with pride at that. Perhaps he was just feeding her ego, talking her up because he wanted to be able to use her for sources, but it was nice to hear regardless of the motive behind it. Her small smile grew. “Well, thanks, I guess. I’ll certainly take it.”

“You should.” He looked like he was about to continue, but his following sentence was broken off by a sudden uproar of excitement. Hollers, cheers, and applause sounded loudly from the center of the room, and they both looked over to see Jefferson exiting the podium, moving down to begin talking to the voters there to see him, and Y/N sighed.

“Guess we’d better get a move on if we want anything out of this event.”

“I suppose so.” He huffed as he lifted himself out of his chair, and Y/N immediately followed suit, tucking her laptop into her bag. “You headed to talk to Jefferson?”

“Nah, actually.” Her gaze darted through the room as she tried to find where to begin. “Just tryna find out what his supporters care about for the election. Needa know what points I need to drive home tomorrow at the debate.” He nodded, and she cocked an eyebrow. “Care to join me?”

“Think I’ll have to take a rain check, unfortunately. My editor wants direct quotes from Jefferson, and this is most of my window of opportunity.” He glanced over at her with a small grin as they walked together toward the center of the room. “Come find me if you get sick of the Republicans, though. I’d be more than happy to abandon Jefferson for a cup of coffee at the place around the corner.”

He winked before he made off toward where Jefferson stood, and Y/N was left stunned a moment. _Shit,_ was he hitting on her? She couldn’t help it as her eyes raked over his retreating form, biting her lip as she decided that she certainly wouldn’t have minded if he was. After all, even the clowns need company in the media circus.

She didn’t let herself dwell, though, but instead fixed her focus on the task at hand. She floated throughout the room for the next hour or two, meeting Ben’s eye in passing here and there, receiving a wry grin. A few trends emerged from Jefferson’s supporters, and they were fairly generic. Russia, China, healthcare, the crushing weight of existence and the feeling that they were running out of time, fear of the impending race war, healthcare – y'know, the usual.

(Perhaps she’d spoken to one too many alt-righters. The fact that they were at the Jefferson town hall spoke volumes.)

A few hours deep, she checked her watch, concerned about how long this would go on, leafed through her notes trying to determine whether she had enough to just jump ship, to climb into her hotel bed, order room service, and take her pants off. She glanced back up at Jefferson warily.

Her gaze traveled lazily around the room as she decided talking to one or two more people wouldn’t kill her, wincing internally even as she made the decision. She braced herself for just a few more minutes of crazy.

“Y/N!”

Oh, the voice that came from her left was melodic, sounded of angels singing, of her walking miracle saving her from the political shitshow, and she turned with a smile. Walking toward her brightly was Dolley Madison, and her brows shot up as she reached her.

“Hey, Dolley, what’s up?”

“Not much.” She pulled Y/N for an unexpected hug, grinning as she pulled back to look at her from arm’s length. Her hands still rested on Y/N’s shoulders. “Fancy meeting you here, though. What are the odds?”

“Oh, so low. Especially considering my job and your marriage, who knew we’d both end up at Jefferson’s town hall?” Her tone was playful as Dolley rolled her eyes.

“Oh, don’t gimme that. I’m just glad to see you.”

Y/N laughed as Dolley finally pulled back, settling beside her. “Jesus; tell me about it. D'you know how many crazy voters I’ve had to pretend were _completely_ normal in the past few hours. Even just your sanity is a breath of fresh air.”

“Yeah, the American voter.” Her smile was amused as she eyed the crowd. “Really gives you hope for the future of our country, hm?”

“Of _course._ ” Y/N laughed, tucking a hair behind her ears. “Comforting to know these are the people who determine our president for the next four years.”

“I’m sure.” Dolley glanced back up toward where Jefferson stood, James apparently now beside him making his way through the crowd. “Though, I _do_ find a bit of comfort in the idea of Thomas being the one behind the wheel for the next four years.”

“That makes one of us.” Though Y/N’s tone was joking, her words were dead serious, and transparently so. Dolley grinned as she caught her eye.

“Yeah?”

“I might be just a _little_ bit biased.” Y/N shrugged. “To be fair, I’ve spent the past four months digging up all the dirt there is on him, and reviving any and all skeletons in his many, many closets.”

“Yeah, I gotcha. I keep up with your articles.” Dolley winked, and Y/N could feel herself flush. The fact that Dolley Madison actively kept tabs on her writing felt like quite the honor. “Didn’t think any of it was _all that_ damning, though, to be honest.”

“No, I agree with you.” Y/N nodded reasonably, eyes fixed on Jefferson as he moved fluidly through the room, weaving between people and families, shaking hands, taking selfies. “And I’m glad it comes off that way, too. I try to keep the tone of my writing neutral, but as a journalist, I have to look at everything with a critical eye, y'know?”

“I’ve gotcha. I may be biased too, considering my husband is probably gonna be his running mate.” Dolley grinned as she caught James’s eye and waved to him. He was at the opposite end of the room, but he began walking toward them almost immediately.

“James may be what saves the ticket in my eyes, to be honest.” Y/N returned the smile as he neared them, and turned to Dolley. “If not, though, is it too late to take you up on covering my therapy costs?”

She laughed, squeezing Y/N’s forearm lightly. “I’ll just have to hope James helps keep your sanity these next few months.”

“What’s that about Y/N’s sanity?” James furrowed his brow as he reached them, a small smile resting on his lips, but his gaze full of concern.

The two women shared an entertained look before Y/N turned to James. “Just that when I lose it, the two of you had better find me a comfy asylum.”

James’s visible confusion deepened as Dolley’s grin grew. “Don’t worry about it, love. We were just discussing Y/N’s writing about the campaign.”

“Ah, so that’s why you’re losing your sanity?” He raised an eyebrow, and Y/N nodded in confirmation. “Then no worries, we’ll find you the best therapist money can buy.”

She let out a soft 'aw,’ placing her hand over her heart. “When you do, I’ll be sure to write an exposé on the generosity of the Madisons. You’d better be honored when I cross party lines for you two.”

James grinned. “Abandoning partisanship for the Jefferson campaign? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“You won’t. It’ll all be for Dolley.” Y/N shot her a wink. “I’ll throw all my weight behind Jefferson when Hell freezes over.”

“You do so much for me,” Dolley sighed dramatically, wiping away an imaginary tear as she squeezed Y/N’s hand, pretending to be moved by her words. Meanwhile, James folded his arms, wearing a small smile.

“He’ll see to it that that’s sooner than you think.”

* * *

 **SHE ABANDONED JEFFERSON’S** rally not long after, having no desire to breathe any more air that reeked so heavily of contrived charisma and shitty cologne, but having all the desire in the world to snuggle into her warm pajamas and pop open a bottle of hotel wine. After all, the debates didn’t start for nearly 24 more hours.

She was about to pick up her nap from earlier right where it’d left off, but had first to piece together what she’d taken away from the rally and forward it over to Ashley. Not to mention the unfortunately necessary hours of preparation between her and the debates. She couldn’t mess up her first run on TV. It was two hours and half a bottle of wine later that she sent off the culmination of her notes and recordings from the afternoon, and by the time Ashley emailed her back, it was nearly eight PM. After that, she resolved to spend no more than two hours writing and revising her questions for the following evening.

She groaned at the fourth email from Ashley – she had too much criticism, but not nearly enough suggestion. _If all my ideas are bad,_ Y/N thought, frustrated, _why don’t you have any better ones?_ After shooting her a response, she decided to take a well-deserved break.

At this point in the night, shame was a non-factor in her decisions, and she was far beyond caring if anyone down in the lobby was going to judge her tank top or bunny slippers. She just wanted whatever candy went best with shitty, five-dollar, red wine, and a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos, and she knew the hotel’s food kiosk was the most convenient place to find both.

“Wait, hold the elevator!” She only really kicked into gear when turned the corner on her floor to see the elevator’s doors about to close, and she really didn’t have the patience left to wait for the next one down, let alone actually _take the stairs_. To her delight, a hand darted out against the door at her words, and they bounced back open. She breathed a sigh of relief as she finally reached them, ready to sing her mystery savior’s praises – that is, until she saw who was standing in the back of the elevator, and her eyes widened; she’d be lying if she said she didn’t seriously consider braving five flights of stairs just to reach the ground floor undisturbed.

“Oh, I– Y/N…” Jefferson’s voice trailed off, surprised, as she stepped hesitantly into the elevator, keeping her distance from him even in the small space. “Hey.”

“Secretary Jefferson.” She only acknowledged him, not meeting his eyes as the elevator doors finally closed. He glanced over at her with an eyebrow raised at that, though, almost surprised that 'Thomas’ had somehow reverted to 'Secretary Jefferson’ in just the past few weeks, but he couldn’t pretend he didn’t know why – that was why he didn’t say a word about it, especially since they both knew, and both wanted to deny, that they couldn’t help but still think about the last time they’d met. The tension was heavy in the growing silence.

She could feel his gaze over her shoulder, could see him out of the corner of her eye, but she was determined not to catch his eye, looking instead firmly down to her phone screen, responding to Angelica and Alex’s texts from earlier in the day (keeping her brightness down, though, so he couldn’t see those, either). She swallowed thickly as he looked back up, biting her lip as she glanced over at him. She looked back down for a moment, anxious in the deafening silence, eyes unfocused but toward her phone screen, but she figured she was safe to sneak another glance at him – apparently, he’d made the same calculation.

She froze as their eyes met, breath catching in the back of her throat and heat rushing to her face, and he only smiled, waiting to see if she would make the next move. She was determined to ignore him, but it appeared as though she’d been caught. He held her gaze a moment as the elevator descended; it appeared she wouldn’t be the first to speak.

She bit her lip, looking up at him as his eyes traveled down her form, grin widening as he caught sight of her pajama pants and slippers, and he raised a teasing brow. “ _Harry Potter?_ Really?”

She glanced self-consciously down at her Deathly Hallows pants, her face growing hotter by the second, and she looked back up at him weakly. “They’re good books, okay?” she said, tone defensive as she folded her arms, fixed her gaze back on the elevator doors before them, and he chuckled.

“You won’t hear me arguin’ with that.” He had to choke back another laugh as she rolled her eyes, letting out a nearly-inaudible huff. “Aw, c'mon, I’m just teasin’.”

She scowled as she looked up at him, feeling more-than-flustered and _far_ from entertained. “What do you want from me, Jefferson?”

He quirked up a brow at her. “Really?” He paused, seemingly in disbelief, and she shook her head blankly at him, waiting for him to continue. “We just never gonna talk about that state dinner, then?”

Her face was now burning; she couldn’t meet his eye. He’d finally pointed out the elephant in the room, and for once in her career, it didn’t happen to be the one that belonged to the GOP. Just the one that had decided to sit directly on her ego and crush her spirit. “I certainly wasn’t planning on bringing it up.”

He sighed. “C'mon, Y/N.” She didn’t look up. “Alright, fine, pretend it didn’t happen. But I just wanted to say that–”

That was the exact moment the elevator dinged as it reached the ground floor, catching both of their attention immediately. He cut himself off as the doors began to open. As they caught sight of the numerous people standing before them in the lobby, waiting to get onto the elevator, he glanced back down at her to find her looking up at him, biting her lip but her expression unreadable.

“Some other time, Secretary Jefferson.”

She exited the elevator without another word, and he did the same, although slow to follow suit. He didn’t continue after her; he couldn’t see the point. There was no way he’d be able to have that conversation with her in a lobby full of politicians, but his stare was still attached to her as she left. He really didn’t know what to make of her – but he intended to figure it out.

* * *

 **THE NEXT EVENING** was the first night of the debates. To be quite candid, to Y/N, nearly the entire night was a blur. She’d gotten ready with a series of emails to her boss and with Angelica on Facetime, helping her strike the perfect balance of femininity and professionalism (it’d proved to be a tough line to walk), and arrived at the venue hours early as per her official instruction. She steeled herself for the ordeal, determined to ignore any lingering tension between her and Jefferson. She had a job to do there, and she intended to do it right. After the debate, once she began to remove her microphone and slowly make her way out, she avoided him at all costs – even if the confrontation was inevitable, with the unfortunately large overlap between their lives, it was neither the time nor the place, and she intended to put it off as long as possible.

Chatter filled the room behind her. Everyone who had shown up to watch the debates live was now slowly filing out, apart from groups here and there of stragglers or of people who wanted to approach the candidates afterward. She handed her microphone off to a tech intern with a warm smile and a 'thank you,’ collecting her notes before she went backstage to retrieve her coat. (Michigan winters, she’d learned, were brutal.)

She shuffled everything back into her folder, glancing at the crowd behind her, when she caught sight of a familiar face. She furrowed her brow and squinted. She paused, considering whether to go down to greet him – she hardly knew him, after all – but he beat her to the punch. He waved, beckoned her over when he caught her eye, and warily, she obliged.

“Hey, it’s Lafayette, right? We met at the state dinner; I’m Alex’s friend, Y/N.”

He grinned as she reached him, clutching her papers to her chest and extending a hand in greeting, which he took without hesitation. “Oui, I remember. It is good to see you, Y/N, although Alexander neglected to mention zat you would be moderating ze debates.”

“Oh, what, didn’t he tell you how important I am?” She shrugged, shaking her head with a grin as though it was obvious. “Next I’m coming for Anderson Cooper’s job, just you wait.”

He laughed, folding his arms as he glanced up toward the stage. “I do not doubt it for even a moment. Are you moderating again tomorrow night?”

She nodded. “Mhm. You coming tomorrow night?”

“Oui. I came all ze way to Michigan for zis; it would be a shame if I was only 'ere for one night, hm?” He raised his eyebrows, and she shrugged, nodded. He flashed her a sly grin. “Besides, since I now know zat you are going to be 'ere tomorrow, zat gives me all ze more reason to show up.”

Her breath hitched a moment, before she laughed nervously, running a hand through her hair. “Ah, yes, can’t miss my political commentary and passive aggression for two hours onstage. Isn’t that your idea of a perfect Thursday night?”

“More or less.” His smile was sharp, his gaze all but wolfish for a moment, and a chill ran down her spine before his expression softened. “Would it be against your ethics as a journalist to tell me which of ze candidates you are supporting?”

Y/N shrugged. “To be honest, I’m not a fan of any of them at the moment, but we’ll see how it shakes out after the second night of debates. After all, the candidates are only human, so I’ve gotta find a way to look past the skeletons in their closets.”

Lafayette raised a wary eyebrow, looking concerned. “Ze 'skeletons in their closets’?” he repeated, and she cracked a grin.

“Yeah, like the bad things from their past?”

He stared at her, expression deadpan. “I am from France. You will 'ave to forgive me zat we do not use murder as an idiom for all wrongdoings.”

She couldn’t help her laugh at that, covering her mouth with her free hand. “Cut me some slack; I’ve grown up with it.”

He raised his eyebrows. “With murder?”

“No! With the English language!” she defended, laughing, and he couldn’t stifle his grin any longer.

“My apologies, chérie. I could not 'elp myself.” He held up his hands in his defense, and she rolled her eyes. “Is it safe to assume you are not voting for any of ze candidates zat 'ave murdered anyone?”

She shook her head, amused. “Yeah, that’s a fair guess.”

“I am glad to 'ear it.” He paused a moment, grinning as he nodded to someone behind her, and she raised a brow. She glanced over her shoulder to see none other than Thomas Jefferson approaching, headed down the same stairs she’d taken to reach Lafayette several minutes before, and she groaned internally. Just her luck. Would it be rude to immediately run the moment he reached where she was standing? “Thomas! 'Ow 'ave you been?” Lafayette immediately pulled him into a hug as he reached the pair of them, greeting him like an old friend, and Jefferson pulled back with a small smile of his own.

“Gotta say, I’ve been worse,” he said, “Especially when you weren’t here. Spendin’ all that time over in France, abandonin’ us.” He put a hand on his heart, shaking his head with a playfully mournful frown, and Lafayette rolled his eyes.

“Oui, I am sure I was sorely missed.” He huffed, shaking his head, and Jefferson cracked a grin. “I left you with an open invitation to come and visit me whenever you pleased, and you never came. I did not feel particularly missed, Monsieur Jefferson.”

“Ah, I’ll find a way to make it up to you.” He shot Lafayette a wink, and in the midst of the interaction, Y/N considered just silently slipping away. They seemed to have forgotten she was there, and if there was ever a time to escape, it was right then. She hesitated. “Though, you never came to visit me back in D.C., either,” Jefferson pointed out to his friend, who scoffed, “So who’s really to blame?”

“I resent ze accusation, Thomas. I was busy. I am a very important person with very important things to do, and I simply could not find ze time. I tried to visit you, but alas, ze people of France must come first.” He sighed dramatically, his entire proclamation made in jest. Jefferson rolled his eyes.

“You implyin’ I’m not doin’ anything down in D.C.? That hurts, Laf, really.”

Lafayette grinned. “Of course not.”

It was then that Y/N began to back away from the pair, seemingly forgotten in their enthusiastic greeting, and she figured that she’d be able to escape without a problem. Just after she began to turn, though, Lafayette spoke.

“Ah, Thomas, you know Y/N, hm?” She froze at that. Her retreat no longer seemed as secure as it had previously. His tone was jovial as he motioned to her, and she reluctantly turned back around to face them. “Obviously, from zis,” –He motioned to the stage, and Y/N met Jefferson’s eyes warily– “but ze two of you met at ze state dinner, non? With Alex?”

Jefferson seemed to be taking his cues from Y/N at that point, watching her with raised brows as she sighed, plastering on a smile as she turned to Lafayette. “Yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

What followed that was a momentary silence. Lafayette had obviously detected rigidity of the interaction, but he hadn’t quite figured out what to do with it, and Y/N wasn’t at all inclined to force the conversation to happen. She had no interest in making small talk with Jefferson. Lafayette cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow at Jefferson, who sighed.

“Yeah, a couple of times now,” Jefferson added tiredly. “State dinner wasn’t the first.”

“Oui? When else?”

Y/N and Jefferson shared a tired glance. The whole interaction was painfully out of character for both of them, their actions and words forced, and while neither of them seemed up to carrying the conversation, it certainly seemed Lafayette was doing his best.

“Just, through work, Lafayette. Nothing all that exciting. I’ve been covering his campaign for a while now, so by the state dinner, we’d already met once or twice,” Y/N explained, offering Lafayette a weak smile. “Y'know, exciting stuff.”

“Actually, about the state dinner.” Both Y/N and Lafayette were surprised when Jefferson spoke up once again, instead of just letting the conversation entirely drop. She was concerned as to where this was going. “I just,” he paused, meeting her eyes, “wanted to apologize, if I ever made you uncomf–”

“Don’t worry about it, Secretary Jefferson,” Y/N cut him off abruptly with a sigh before plastering on an understanding (obviously forced) smile. He raised his eyebrows. “It’s fine; it was a mistake. And this really isn’t the time or the place. We can… talk about this later.” She huffed, clutching her papers even more tightly against her chest. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t hide how flustered she was.

He paused, searching her expression, clearly not quite believing her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiled stiffly.

“Alright,” he sighed. He made pointed eye contact with her, squaring his shoulders. His gaze was determined if not frustrated. “We _will_ talk about this some other time. See you around, Lafayette, Y/N.” He nodded to both of them, holding Y/N’s gaze for just a moment too long, his expression steely. She could feel her heartbeat in her head; the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and he turned and left. Lafayette and Y/N both stayed there a moment longer, frozen to the spot and stunned for entirely different reasons.

There was a skip, before Lafayette broke the silence.

“What happened at ze state dinner?” Lafayette asked, turning to her, but she didn’t even hear him. She was still fixated on Jefferson’s parting words. Her heart was in her throat as she watched him retreat. Jesus, fuck.

 _We_ will _talk about this._

* * *

**_Twitter_ **

**@gilafayette started following you** **.**

Y/N raised an eyebrow from where she sat on her hotel bed. The debates were only a few hours away.

@ **Y/N_L/N:** As the second night of Republican primary debates nears, keep up with the biggest issues and the who’s-who of the candidates with the Washington Post’s recent article about night 1 of the debates. Join us tonight on the official live stream, co-sponsored alongside NBC, and hear it all firsthand from the candidates themselves.

_Quoted article:[https://www.washingtonpost.com/fakelink/clowns](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.washingtonpost.com%2Ffakelink%2Fclowns&t=Y2Y5YzEwNDFkNTJlMjVlOWYzZWQ2Nzg0YzQxY2M3OWY0N2UwZjk5NSxlak5WYlhPcg%3D%3D&b=t%3AqZnNw2PYQY4DFTpdXuVWAQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fastralaffairs.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F189981054458%2Ffreedom-of-the-press-04-thomas-jefferson&m=1&ts=1598501062)_

_**@** _ **BenArnold started following you.**

_Replying to @Y/N_L/N:_  
 _@_ **BenArnold:** or you could just read my recap, but to each their own ig

She rolled her eyes at the tweet, though smiling to herself. She considered replying to it, but then thought better of it – his tweet was so clearly in jest, and it was too easy to misinterpret tones over the internet. She opted to like the tweet.

**@** **JamesMdson retweeted your recent tweet.**

**New message from @A_Hamilton** **:**

**@A_Hamilton:** wanna grill jefferson about our war debts with france tn???

@ **A_Hamilton:** i could even write u the questions

@ **A_Hamilton:** wait omg open it up to audience questions and claim it’s from someone else if u don’t wanna attribute it to urself

@ **A_Hamilton:** Suzie from Mississippi asked: why the fuck would you decide not to engage in France’s war as secretary of state, not even try to assist them when we HAD the funds and they’d just helped us in our war, and then oppose an improved centralized banking system so that we could unilaterally balance the national budget, asshole?

@ **Y/N_L/N:** have u been drinking again

@ **A_Hamilton:** ok ok hear me out. like he wouldn’t suspect a thing!!!! he doesn’t even know we’re friends why would it b me

@ **A_Hamilton:** wait shit we saw him at the state dinner

@ **A_Hamilton:** fuck nvm just pin the question on lafayette as a bitter french diplomat

@ **Y/N_L/N:** alex.

@ **Y/N_L/N:** i swear to god, you are the ONLY voter THAT invested in our debt to france

@ **Y/N_L/N:** isnt it just like a trade deficit, anyway??

@ **A_Hamilton:** YES THATS THE PROBLEM

@ **A_Hamilton:** he can’t even deal w our relations with one of our oldest allies, he was a shitty secretary of state

@ **Y/N_L/N:** clean up the language and ill lead the conversation there

@ **Y/N_L/N:** it’s not a completely shit idea

@ **A_Hamilton:** ur the only reporter that matters ily

✅ **_Read, 5:27 PM._**

**@** **gilafayette wants to send you a message. Accept?**

@ **gilafayette:** what happened at the state dinner between you and thomas

@ **gilafayette:** i tried to ask him but he is very evasive

 **@gilafayette:** i am concerned about him since then

Y/N’s eyes widened as she accepted the message. She’d expected it to just be dropped, for Lafayette to entirely let it go, as it truly wasn’t his problem, but there she was. She raised a brow at the last message, though.

**Messages to @gilafayette:**

@ **Y/N_L/N:** it was nothing important, but why are you concerned about him??

@ **gilafayette:** he has been acting strange since we saw you

@ **gilafayette:** he and i went for coffee and he was preoccupied for the whole time

@ **gilafayette:** and when i tried to ask him he was being very evasive

@ **Y/N_L/N:** it really wasn’t anything monumental. hes probably preoccupied w/ the debates, don’t read into it

@ **Y/N_L/N:** have u tried just asking him what’s on his mind?

@ **gilafayette:** brb

She rolled her eyes at the message. Of _course_ he hadn’t even thought to consider the obvious solution: communication. There seemed to be a disconnect between Lafayette and the obvious, though..

**Messages to @gilafayette:**

**@gilafayette:** he says he is fine and not to worry

@ **gilafayette:** but i worry

@ **Y/N_L/N:** did he say what was on his mind

@ **gilafayette:** no

@ **gilafayette:** brb i will tell him you asked. perhaps he only does not want to talk to me.

Her pulse skipped as she read the message; her eyes widened. _Shit._

 _@_ **Y/N_L/N:** no lafayette pls don’t say that

@ **Y/N_L/N:** i didn’t ask. i just wanted to give you a better idea for what to ask.

@ **gilafayette:** yes you told me to ask

@ **gilafayette:** exactly

@ **gilafayette:** what is the difference?

She let out a groan, burying her face in her hands. This whole interaction felt so middle-school to her. _Y/N said to ask Lafayette to ask Thomas if he’s still thinking about her!_

 _@_ **Y/N_L/N:** please lafayette just keep me out of this

@ **Y/N_L/N:** don’t wanna get involved in ur relationship with him. if i wanted to ask him something id do it on my own time

@ **gilafayette:** wait he has just responded

@ **Y/N_L/N:** so you still sent the message???

@ **gilafayette:** it was too late, i am sorry!

@ **Y/N_L/N:** what did he say??

@ **gilafayette:** “if she wants to know, tell her to ask me herself”

@ **Y/N_L/N:** lafayette i stg

@ **Y/N_L/N:** please tell him this was just a misunderstanding and it wasn’t MY question!!

**✅** **_Read, 5:49 PM._ **

She groaned, letting herself fall back onto her bed as she saw the read receipt. _Just_ her luck.

**@** **ThomasJefferson wants to send you a message. Accept?**

Oh, _fuck._ She didn’t want to open the message, but at the same time, she was desperate to see what he had sent. In the midst of her internal struggle, it occurred briefly to her that if she didn’t just open the message, he’d find some way to confront her about it in person that night, and – to her dismay – her mind was made up.

**Messages to @ThomasJefferson:**

**@Thomas_Jefferson:** did you really just avoid every time i tried to talk to you abt that night and then ask lafayette what was on my mind???

@ **ThomasJefferson:** im going to come talk to you after the debate tonight. don’t leave the building.

✅ **_Read, 5:56 PM._**

* * *

 **WITH JEFFERSON’S WORDS** still in mind, Y/N fled the second night of debates the moment she could cut loose, calling an Uber before they even gave her the go-ahead to leave, not having a second to waste.

She caught his eye on the way out, him surrounded by three campaign staffers and James Madison, and he raised an eyebrow at her. The intimation was obvious: _wait up for him_.

She broke the eye contact immediately, shaking her head lightly. She had a blue Toyota Camry and a driver named Mandy to find out on the snow-coated street, and she was off long before he had even a chance to try to follow her.

She’d assumed the ordeal was over. She thought it was over with, that she’d somehow managed to escape scot-free, and that she’d managed to avoid Jefferson privately confronting her once and for all.

 _Boy,_ was she wrong.

She spent her final evening in the hotel carefree, drafting the second night’s article as Lizzo played in the background. She’d packed most of her things, aside from the previous night’s bottle of wine and the second pack of Flaming Hot Cheetos she’d bought with her future self in mind (she was patting herself on the back for that one, of course).

She strolled over to the business office on her floor with a pen in her mouth, still humming along to her long-abandoned music, as Ashley had requested that she fax over her handwritten notes from both nights of debates – she’d called down to the front desk to ask first if they had a fax machine. She hadn’t intended to get out of bed if she didn’t have to.

Balancing her notes across the keyboard of her laptop in one arm, she opened the door to the office, eyes still fixated on the screen of her computer as she pushed the door with her shoulder. When she looked up, she was met with more than just a printer and a fax machine.

His nose was no longer buried in the book he held on his lap, seemingly distracted by the sound of the door opening, and he had his sweatpant-clad legs propped up on the desk before him, his glasses discarded on the table next to him. She froze when their eyes met.

“Y/N,” Jefferson said, looking as stunned as she felt. She blinked. A beat passed. She almost responded, before she remembered the pen she still held in her mouth, continuing into the room and letting the door click shut behind her so that she could put her papers down. “Shit, uh… I can leave if you need the room, or–”

“No, no, you’re fine.” She finally took the pen out from between her teeth, withdrawing her papers from her laptop, closing it atop the desk. “But I can, ah, come back, if–”

“No, 'course not.” He gave her a soft grin, fiddling with the page of his book. “Seems like you’re the only one who actually needs the room, anyway.”

She returned his smile, though hesitantly, feeling awkward to be alone with him in the small space. “Thanks.”

She began shuffling her papers into the fax machine one by one, and the silence grew heavy. She tried not to feel the need to fill it. Yet–

“What brought you here, anyway?” She glanced back at him over her shoulder with an eyebrow raised and found his gaze still trained on her. She shifted her weight, and he chuckled.

“Just tryin’ to escape.”

She furrowed her brow, not sure if she understood, and another moment passed as she fed her last paper into the fax machine. Now she just had to play the waiting game (which was unfortunately long, considering the number of papers Ashley demanded). “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, lifting his feet off the desk’s edge as he leaned forward to rest his forearms atop his legs. “Just needed a moment to myself. I’m sharin’ my room here with James, and since I started runnin’ for president it hasn’t been easy to find some time alone.”

She nodded, glancing down at the book in his hand, and grinned. “And you’re spending that time reading?”

“You got any better ideas for me?” He raised a playful eyebrow when she turned to lean against where the wraparound desk met the back of the incredibly small room. She only shrugged.

“Could spend this time cleaning up your entire political platform,” she suggested, and he laughed.

“Now you’re just baitin’ me.”

“Never!”

He rolled his eyes as he turned the office chair to face her. “Now tell me why I don’t believe you.”

“Beats me.” She plastered on an innocent smile, ultimately pursing her lips, though, to stifle her grin.

“Mhm.” He shook his head in amusement, wide grin adorning his lips as he looked down once again, thumbing the nearest page of his book. Y/N raised an eyebrow.

“Whatcha reading?”

“Nietzsche.” He held up the book, showing her the name scrawled across the cover and the spine.

 _“Zarathustra?_ Really?” She eyed the book with a wary gaze, and his eyebrows shot toward his hairline, amused.

“Don’t tell me you’ve read it?”

“It seems we have annoyingly similar taste in literature, Secretary Jefferson.” She grinned. “Can I get past you to the printer real quick?”

“Hm? Oh, 'course.” He glanced over his shoulder, standing and taking a step over immediately as he realized the chair was situated directly in front of where she needed to be. She thanked him softly as she moved past him to collect her newly-inked papers. There was a skip; he hesitated. "So it’s back to Secretary Jefferson now, huh?“

She looked over to where he stood beside her, eyebrows raised and heat creeping up the back of her neck. The look in his eyes was expectant, but not demanding. "Is that alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” he said, wearing a small, almost comforting smile, and she couldn’t help but return it, before he added with a grin. “Thomas is better, though.”

Despite the amusement in his eyes and the mischief dancing in his smile, Y/N let out a sigh as she pushed herself onto the counter beside the fax machine. “I’m sorry, I really just–”

“I know. ’M sorry. We don’t have to get into it, if you don’t wanna.”

She paused as she met his eyes. The understanding tone he was taking now felt like a far cry from how he’d been earlier in the day, but sitting alone with him in that hotel business office after hours, both of them out of their suits and into their sleepwear, joking about his reading material, she felt like she was just then seeing him clearly. “I…” She gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”

“You never responded to my message on Twitter, though,” he continued, a grin once again breaking across his face, and she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “C'mon, don’t pretend, I saw that you read it.”

“Lafayette was out of line!” she defended, “God, he was asking for advice on what he should say to you because he was worried, and somehow _I_ became his advisor, and I literally just told him to ask you what was wrong. I wasn’t trying to pry after avoiding you the past few days.”

“I kinda figured, after Laf’s next couple messages. Basically told me you were chewin’ him out for askin’ that,” he laughed, but raised an eyebrow as he met her eyes. “But you admit you were avoidin’ me, though, huh?”

“I–” She paused, mouth open to respond, and eyebrows raised, but she didn’t know how to respond. The question caught her entirely by surprise. “I guess so, yeah.”

Her face burned as he chuckled lightly, and she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. She bit her lip, folded her arms across her chest. “Don’t act like it’s some big confession, now; it was kinda obvious. You said all of three words to me in the elevator, shut me down when you were talkin’ to Lafayette, and then today, at the debate?” He raised an eyebrow, seemingly enjoying watching her squirm. She didn’t look up at him. “Now, that was the most obvious of all. You read my message, made _direct eye contact_ with me, and then were still the first one outta the building. You aren’t subtle, sweetheart.”

She sighed, crossed her ankles where she sat on the counter, and ran a hand through her hair. “Yeah, I guess that’s fair,” she sighed, finally looking up at him, and he didn’t say a word, waiting for her to continue. He cocked an expectant eyebrow. “Just, after the state dinner, and what happened – or really, what _almost_ happened,” she sighed, and the corners of his lips quirked up. “I really didn’t wanna talk to you, or _know how_ to, and I’m sorry, I just– What would I have said? What was I _supposed_ to say? 'So, I know I, like, almost let you kiss me three weeks ago, but now I’m gonna grill you about fiscal policy on national television! Isn’t that fun?’” She plastered on an exaggerated smile, mocking the hypothetical, and he laughed.

“That would’ve been a good start.” She rolled her eyes, bit her lips, and his smile softened. “Could’ve at least let _me_ talk to _you_ , though.”

She sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I should’ve, but I think I just scared myself into thinking talking to you meant my immediate demise.”

“Now, that offends me a little,” he teased, “I’m nothin’ if not approachable, and I don’t like hearin’ you suggest otherwise.”

She pursed her lips as she met his eyes. “Oh, of course. The Republican presidential frontrunner, who’s always surrounded by people _much_ more important than me, and is never seen in public without an entourage. The easiest to talk to.” He didn’t comment on the thinly veiled confession of insecurity contained in her dry sarcasm, but instead raised an eyebrow.

“Aren’t I?” His tone, his wide grin both seemed to suggest that he was joking, but something in how he looked at Y/N made her breath catch.

“Yeah,” she said, softly, “I guess you are.” She swallowed, looking down at her feet, and the only sound reverberating through the little room was the cranking of the aging fax machine that still held her notes. The hush that fell over them only stretched on.

“Can I just–”

“I wanted to–”

They both looked up at once, though, voices overlapping as they chose the same moment to break the silence, and Thomas grinned. Y/N let out a light laugh. “You can go first.”

“Yeah?” he asked, hesitant. She nodded, shooting him a wink.

“The floor is yours.”

“Much appreciated.” They shared an anticipatory glance, the tension in the room magnified by the close proximity the little space had pushed them into. They weren’t even feet apart. “Anyway, I just, at least, wanna apologize.”

Y/N quirked up an eyebrow. “What for?”

“The state dinner.” She sighed heavily, raking a hand through her hair, and he continued, “C'mon, don’t pretend there’s nothin’ to talk about there. I can’t let myself ignore it, so I’m sorry.” She bit her lip, trying to keep herself from squirming under his gaze, afraid to break the eye contact as he searched her expression. “Seemed like I scared you that night, and I wanna make sure I didn’t make you feel unsafe, or uncomfortable, or… Just felt like I put you in a bad position, or made you feel like you couldn’t leave because of me, since I was still the Secretary of State and all, and…” He trailed off as he saw Y/N raise an amused eyebrow, failing to stifle a grin at his words, and hardly stifling a laugh. He huffed, but there was no real frustration behind his smile. “Gimme a break, it’s happened!”

“What, you’ve cornered _other_ hot reporters in your office and leveraged your title against them?” she teased, and he rolled his eyes, cracking a grin.

“I usually go for hot Congresswomen, but none were around, so I figured you’d have to do.”

“You’ve tried to stick it on Nancy Pelosi?” she asked in mock disbelief, and he laughed, carding a hand through his hair, “Can I quote you on that?”

“May wanna keep it off the record, just this once.” He winked, and she couldn’t help her light huff, playful disappointment mingling with amusement. He pursed his lips. “But seriously, Y/N, hope I didn’t scare you.”

“No sweat, Thomas, I don’t scare easy.” She gave him a soft smile, and he raised a brow, surprised to hear her using his first name again, but he held his tongue. She swallowed thickly, realizing it at the same time. “I’m not about to become your Monica Lewinsky, if that’s what you’re worried about – you didn’t put me in any position I didn’t wanna be in.” Her last few words had even her taking pause, surprised at having said them aloud. It felt more like a confession than a reassurance, and with that, Thomas’s brows shot toward his hairline, and a small smirk rested on his lips. Y/N could feel her heart in her throat as she waited for him to respond.

“'I didn’t put you in any position you didn’t wanna be in,’ huh?” he repeated slowly, his smug smile growing as her eyes slowly began to widen; she didn’t like watching him take pleasure in this.

“I–” She cut herself off as he took a step toward her, pushing herself further back where she sat on the edge of the desk. “Yeah,” she breathed, worried that her heart would beat out of her chest if she said much more.

“So–” One of his hands landed beside her on the desk as his stare became increasingly self-contented, “What if you ended up in that position again, hm?” His other large hand came to rest on her right knee; he was now hovering just inches above her, and her pulse threatened to stop altogether as she looked up at him, wide-eyed.

“Thomas,” she said softly, biting her lip, and she couldn’t help but notice him track the movement, his gaze falling momentarily to her mouth. His hand lifted from her knee to her jaw, brushing a hair away from her face before running his thumb along her cheekbone, cupping her cheek. “What are you doing?” she asked, breathlessly.

“This time, is it a position you don’t wanna be in?” he asked, the hand that previously sat on the desk now meeting her waist, pulling her closer to him. Something about his smile told her that he was confident in what her answer would be. He raised an eyebrow.

“What…” Her voice faltered as he pulled her into him, her legs now straddling his waist from atop the desk, and she prayed he didn’t catch it when her gaze fell to his lips, if only for a moment. (The way he grinned told her he’d definitely caught it.) He stilled millimeters away from her lips, and the movement wasn’t even conscious as her arms wrapped around his neck. “Thomas.”

He smiled, his nose brushing against hers, and he couldn’t help that his grin grew when she shivered at the contact. “Y/N,” he whispered, too close even to make out her full face, but he could see every detail of her shining eyes clearly, could trace every ridge of her lips.

She was terrified. Every nerve in her body seemed to be standing on end, and she could feel everything. Even the slightest movements made her pulse jump – the pads of his fingers digging into her waist, his breath as it fluttered across her cheek, him pulling her impossibly closer, yet still, not quite close enough. She swallowed hard, looking into his eyes. “Kiss me.”

He obliged her immediately, his hand gripping her jaw as his lips moved against hers, and she reacted in the same moment. One of her hands weaved itself into his hair, while the other sank into the back of his old college t-shirt. His tongue pushed insistently past her lips, and she arched against him in an effort to pull him ever closer, pushing herself toward the edge of the desk. His hand slid down to hook itself under her thigh, and his grip tightened on her leg as she sighed against him. He nipped at her bottom lip, tugging it into his mouth, but nearly lost it when he yanked at her hair, and she let out a soft, _needy_ whine against his mouth – the kiss immediately became harsher, faster; in seconds it was all teeth and tongue. Y/N didn’t know when his lips had begun to trail down her neck, didn’t realize his hands began to tug at her shirt until she felt his fingers brush against her stomach, and she shuddered. She gasped as he scraped his teeth over the base of her neck, sucking a hickey into the skin, and she rolled her hips involuntarily up against his. He groaned against her.

“Fuck,” she whispered as his hands finally breached the hem of her shirt, pressing into the bare skin of her waist, and she dragged her nails down across his back, feeling his muscles rippling in his shoulders as he pulled her harshly against himself.

“Shit, sweetheart.” She yanked at his hair, began kissing along his jawline, grinding her hips persistently up against his. “Y/N,” he groaned, his nails beginning to dig directly into her hips. Her movements faltered a moment. She swallowed.

It must have been then that she came to her senses. She couldn’t have placed exactly when, or why she broke it off, but it must have been when she heard her name out of his mouth, against her skin, when she realized exactly where she was. She pulled back from him, gasping for air, her hands against his chest, and he raised his eyebrows.

“What…?” he breathed, equally winded, “What’s wrong? Did I do somethin’?”

Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him, shaking her head slowly, but her expression was despairing, the gravity of the situation just then beginning to sink in.

“I…” She trailed off, letting out a huff as she ran a hand through her hair, “No, no, it… it’s not you, but…” She pulled further back, pushing him gently away as she broke out of his grasp. The look in his eyes was worried, but more so disappointed. “We can’t do this, Thomas. Fuck, this was a mistake. What were we thinking? I just–”

She groaned softly, burying her face into her hands before hopping off of the desk, scrambling to collect her laptop and her papers. His eyes widened as she began to rush to leave the room.

“Hey, hey, sweetheart!” He grabbed ahold of her arm as she began to turn away, and she yanked it from his fingers. “Y/N, c'mon, wait a minute.”

“This can’t happen! Don’t you get it?” she said. “This was so fucking stupid. I’m a political journalist, Thomas, and you’re running for President, for God’s sake! Can you imagine what would happen if we hooked up? If that somehow leaked?”

“Wait, be reasonable–”

“I’d become the next fucking Monica Lewinsky, and there goes your campaign, and there goes my career. Next I get accused of biased reporting, and you get accused of foul play with the media.” She shook her head, shuffling her papers together as she turned to leave. “I’m sorry. I… I’m so sorry, this was such a mistake.”

“Y/N.” His voice was steady, but firm. “Listen to me: no one’s losin’ their career, no one’s life is shatterin’ because of this. Relax, darlin’. Leave if you want to, but relax. I’m not gonna try to make you stay.”

She hesitated as he rested his hands on her biceps, as they ghosted down her arms. He smiled. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re _more_ than welcome to stay, but I won’t hold it against you if you don’t.”

“I can’t do this, Thomas,” she breathed, and he chuckled. Despite his small smile, and despite what genuinely were his best efforts, disappointment clouded his gaze, and he did a poor job of hiding it.

“Okay. Then go.” His voice was soft, gentle. “If you ever change your mind, though, just know that I’m the only one with access to my Twitter messages. You know how to reach me if you want to.” He grinned as he said that, and Y/N’s eyes widened. Did he just offer himself up as a _booty call_?

The thought had her breath hitching in the back of her throat. The look in his eyes told her that he was being perfectly sincere.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, voice only just above a whisper, and he nodded.

"Don’t worry about it.” There was a skip. “I’ll see you soon, Y/N.”

“Bye, Thomas.” She held his gaze a moment longer, struggling to bring herself to leave, but knowing she couldn’t stay. He sent her a wink, and she finally began to move.

She was out the door without another word, her breathing shaky as she rushed back to her hotel room. She was desperate to immediately open her phone, to text Angelica or Alex, but _shit_ , if that wouldn’t ruin her life. Angelica would find some way to convince her to quit her job, or somehow weasel her way out of her assignment on the 2020 election, and Alex would be worse yet – he’d take it straight back to Thomas and confront him.

She groaned into her hands as she walked into her bathroom. A cold, cleansing shower was what she needed at that moment. The first thing she saw as she walked into the bathroom, though, was a deep purple hickey, at the base of her neck; she’d be covering _that_ up for weeks, she thought as she drew closer to the mirror, running a hand over it as she examined the area. Yet, it also left her with several 'what if’s – what if she _hadn’t_ stopped it? What if she were to let this happen? _What if_ , for once in her life, she stopped worrying, let herself live, took a risk?

_What if she’d decided to stay?_

She met her own eyes in the mirror as she entertained the thought, and she swallowed roughly.


	5. Eviction or Pay

_**SUNDAY, 9 AM** _

**Y/N AWOKE TO** sun streaming through her windows, and she rolled over with a groan as the bright glare reflected off the snow and into her bedroom. She curled further into the covers, pulled them tighter around herself, shifting underneath the arm that still lay slung over her torso. It took her a minute to process anything being out of place, but as the sleepy haze faded from her mind, her eyes fluttering open to the mid-morning light, she slowly began to realize.

The man beside her shifted with a grumble. Y/N could feel her breath catch as the previous night's memories hit her like a train, and she looked up at him to confirm she hadn't dreamt it -- but there he was. She'd made her bed, both in the literal sense and the figurative, and there she was, laying in it. Pulling closer to him was unconscious; she'd begun by then to drown in retrospection.

As her gaze, glassy and unfocused, fell to his (notably bare) torso, he inhaled deeply. She didn't immediately process the rise and fall of his chest. As he began to wake up, reaching up to rub his eye as he stretched, he squinted down at her, the pair looking equally drowsy. Her eyes had snapped shut upon realizing he was awake, and with a groggy hum, he absentmindedly pulled her closer, an arm wrapped around her waist. When she tensed against his skin, though, he raised an eyebrow, and she finally looked up at him, her smile timid despite her state of affairs. A grin broke through his tired features.

"Mornin', sweetheart."

* * *

_**SUNDAY, 9 AM; TWO WEEKS EARLIER** _

**Y/N HAD ARRIVED** home from her short run in Detroit expecting to be met with celebration and relaxation. She knew that moderating the debates, becoming that publicly visible, would do wonders for her career. The final night of the trip was the furthest thing from her mind -- even throughout the flight back, articles were being written covering the questions she had asked, her name was popping up associated with the debates all over the Internet. She couldn't pretend not to be pleased with the effect on her Twitter following.

Her intent had been to engage further with the work she had done when she was out of town. Though she knew she had her weekend off, she figured it'd be good for her to debrief on everything that had happened, everything she could build on going forward.

However, when she arrived home, she was met with one simple announcement: Angelica was moving out.

Obviously, it wasn't quite as simple as that.

Angelica was engaged, her long-time boyfriend John Church now turned fiancé. Y/N was thrilled for her, and she was reduced nearly to tears when Angelica asked her to be her maid of honor, and Y/N, in turn, insisted on taking her dress shopping.

Alex and Eliza had been over for the announcement as well, as they and Y/N hung onto Angelica's every word as she recounted how John had proposed, getting on one knee after making her a romantic dinner.

"This is honestly the best thing I could've come home to," Y/N gushed, and Angelica let out a soft 'aw,' her hand enveloping her friend's on the couch. The night had been a celebration; the drinks didn't stop until Alex realized he still needed to drive home and Eliza realized she couldn't drink while pregnant. They'd learned that final tidbit not two weeks earlier.

"We're glad to have you back." Alex grinned, and she looked back at him with sentimentality heavy in her gaze. "And after you spent the end of the week dragging Republicans through the mud? We're proud of you."

Angelica and Eliza laughed while Y/N just rolled her eyes. "I didn't 'drag anyone through the mud', _Alexander_ ," she huffed, but his entertainment grew.

"Yeah? Tell that to Jefferson."

She did a poor job hiding her smile. (It'd really gotten closer to a roll in the hay, but that was just semantics.)

"Tonight really is a celebration all around, isn't it?" Eliza looked proud of her as she raised her grape-juice glass in Y/N's honor -- she'd cut herself off after half a drink, ever the responsible mother.

"I'll drink to that," Angelica agreed, nudging Y/N in the side, whose expression had become coy. Alex raised a glass.

"To the next stages in our lives?"

"To weddings and babies!" Eliza grinned. "And dismantling corrupt politics." Y/N couldn't help her light laugh at her friend's declaration, and they all drank without hesitation.

However, the implication was much more than just a celebration.

Everything was changing, for better and for worse -- Angelica was engaged, which meant she would be moving in with her fiancé, thus leaving Y/N without a roommate.

When Y/N brought up the move, trying to stamp down her own ulterior motive and selfish curiosity, Angelica seemed to sense her anxiety at that one glaring fact. "I don't have to move out of here right away, of course. I don't wanna leave you on your own, or--"

"Oh, no _way_ I'm gonna hold you back from moving in with your future husband," Y/N said. "I'm self-sufficient; I'll find a place easy." She didn't have to mention what they both knew: she couldn't afford to stay there without Angelica helping with the bills.

"I know, sweetie." Her smile was maternal as she placed her hand over Y/N's. "Would you let me pay next month's rent, though? I mean, I'm still a tenant--"

"Angelica," Y/N began, giving her a warning look. "No chance. You know how much I appreciate you... well, spotting me some of my half of our monthly bills, but I can't let you do that once you aren't living here. Move out. You deserve it."

"And where are you gonna go?" Angelica raised an eyebrow, and Y/N shrugged, nonchalant.

"We're in DC; there are empty apartments everywhere. I should be able to afford a studio somewhere around here, right?" Angelica, Eliza, and Alex looked skeptical at that. Y/N made decent money at the Washington Post, but with her student debt, her savings were in shambles.

She huffed as she realized the looks they shared. "Or I'll find a roommate. I'll just crash with another friend until I find somewhere with a down payment I can afford."

Angelica sighed. "What if I just helped you with the deposit on another place around here?"

" _No_ , Ang," she insisted with a huff. Her stare was deadpanned, her tone flat. However, Angelica didn't seem to be near acquiescing.

"And why not?" She frowned as she pulled a leg up on the couch, hugging it and resting her head on her knee. "It really doesn't make a dent. It's family money."

"But _I_ need to pay this off for myself." Angelica furrowed her brow, and Y/N could only huff. "You'll never know what it's like to have grown up without money, and I'm glad you didn't, but this is bigger than just a bill. I love you for being willing to support me, but I can't let you." She set her drink down as she shifted to face Angelica. "I have to be able to pay my own rent. I'm not gonna let myself be dependent on you, or feel like I owe you--"

"You wouldn't owe me anthing!" Angelica protested, but Y/N gave her a hard look.

"But I'd feel like I did. I need to support myself."

"Okay, honey." Angelica again reached for her hand, running her thumb over her friend's knuckles. "If you really need money, though, you could pick up some shifts at Mira and Orlando's diner. You know they'd always have you."

She sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. I just always feel bad asking them for work."

"It's not charity, Y/N, it's a job. They need the help anyway." Angelica shrugged, and Y/N pursed her lips. It was a serious consideration; she knew they'd give her the job part-time, she already knew how to do it, and it'd be easy money. She'd worked at the old couple's diner sporadically since coming to D.C., primarily when she needed rent money right after she made the move. Besides, it was pleasant work around them.

"I dunno... I just don't wanna let them think I can't support myself, that I need their help with my finances."

"And how do you expect to handle your finances without work? That's kinda what the economy's based on." Alex looked unimpressed as he interjected, and though she shot him a weak glare, Y/N couldn't argue.

His tone was firm, but Y/N's hesitance was far from unwarranted. Mira and Orlando were her godparents, and they had lived near Y/N and her family in her hometown when she was growing up. Them living and running a hole-in-the-wall family diner in D.C. was a happy coincidence. They'd functioned as parents for Y/N for a number of years, though, and she knew they'd worry if they thought she was struggling to make ends meet. They didn't need any more stress in their lives.

When she didn't answer, Angelica continued, and though her voice was quiet, her tone was firm. "Hey. They're understaffed, and they absolutely adore you. They'll always want your help."

"I dunno." Y/N's stare was fixed on the floor before her as the silence grew, and she couldn't bring herself to meet any of their eyes. She'd end up going to her godparents for work, almost undoubtedly, but none of them could do anything more about the guilt that was strung across Y/N's shoulders like a yoke. They couldn't keep her from trying to carry the weight of the world with her.

It was Eliza who finally broke the pause, eyes bright. "Come stay with us!" she offered, and Y/N couldn't help but grin at her generosity. She glanced at Alex, and he shrugged, nodded along, and her smile was warm as she shook her head lightly.

"You both know I can't accept that. You have a toddler and another baby on the way; the last thing you need is a houseguest."

Alex scoffed. "Whatever. You're family. Family takes care of family, Y/N."

His words went straight to her heart, but she really couldn't impose like that. She bit her lip before replying, "Alex, it means the world to me that you'd offer. _Really_. But that's not fair to you _or_ your pregnant wife."

He held her gaze for a moment, but clearly sensing her determination, he pursed his lips. "Will you at least let us all help find you a place?"

She gave him a soft smile, though wry amusement seeped into it. "Happen to know any wealthy heirs you can marry me off to? I'm flexible."

Alex rolled his eyes as Eliza laughed, though he didn't hide his grin. "Why? So you can go with them to their creepy manors until they die of unexplainable causes?"

She scoffed. "Obviously we'll go on a cruise for our honeymoon where a tragic accident will befall him, making me the sole beneficiary of his will."

"What was I thinking?" Alex's tone reeked of sarcasm, and he shook his head at her before pausing, seeming as though a thought had struck him. "Actually, though, I might have a suggestion."

"You _do_ know a rich, elderly property-owner?"

"Take out elderly and you're set." He shrugged. "Lafayette's roommate--"

He didn't get any further, though, as Y/N groaned. "Really? Lafayette is your big idea? You want _him_ to die in a mysterious accident?"

Alex just rolled his eyes. "I'm not offering him up for you to gold-dig. His roommate just moved out, though, and he hasn't started looking for another one."

"Do you _think_ I could afford to be Lafayette's roommate?" Disbelief hung heavy in her tone.

"Maybe not, but I'm sure he'd be happy to let you stay with him until you can find a place." He shrugged, giving a small smile. "You and him are friends, right?"

Her mind immediately jumped to one specific botched Twitter interaction. He wasn't exactly at the top of the list of people she'd like to live with right then. "... Sort of."

"Great!" His smile grew with that, taking her words for much more than he knew they were. She rolled her eyes. "C'mon, he has an empty bedroom from his roommate and an open guest bedroom. He has enough space and then some."

Y/N's eyebrows shot up. "Geez, you sure he doesn't live in some kind of mansion?"

"Might be a penthouse." She fixed Alex with a skeptical stare, and he had the audacity to grin. "What? I told you he was wealthy. Besides, that's perfect for you, isn't it?"

She pursed her lips, considering her options as she absentmindedly rubbed her right shoulder, an arm crossed over her body as she shrunk back. She certainly didn't have a better idea. "You really think he'd be okay with it?"

"Of course," Alex reassured her, before raising a teasing brow. "Besides, he seemed to take a bit of a liking to you at the state dinner, at least from where I was sitting. I can't imagine he'd object to getting you alone for a few days."

"Alex," she groaned dramatically, leaning back onto the couch in exaggerated exhaustion. "I am _not_ about to barter sex for a place to stay."

"I'd never suggest such a thing," he scoffed, though his gaze drifted down to the spot where her shoulder met her neck, where Y/N's hand had been moments ago, just above her collarbone. He furrowed his brow before his gaze jumped back to hers. "Though, if that hickey is any indication, you're not exactly sexually inactive."

Y/N's eyes widened in horror; her hand fell immediately to the offending area. She'd set her concealer _so well_ ; she had been _sure_ it wasn't visible, but it seemed she'd gradually rubbed the makeup off of it.

Angelica gasped as though scandalized, and Eliza turned to her with wide eyes. "Y/N? Who have _you_ been getting it on with in Detroit?" Angelica grinned after a moment, though, eyes shining with amusement. Y/N's face had to be burning by then. "James Madison been a little too frisky?"

"Angelica." She looked to her with annoyance, her teeth gritted. She swallowed, trying to keep her throat from drying out. "How many times do I have to tell you--"

"With how embarrassed she looks, it has to have been one of the Republicans, right? You see how red she is?" Alex cocked his head to the side, considering her. They'd functionally cut her out of the conversation as they discussed her liaison, and Alex's grin looked overly self-satisfied, in her opinion. "So, if it wasn't Madison, then who? Hm? Henry Clay? Chuck Schumer--?"

"Come on," Y/N groaned. Much of her resistance came from the fact that they were dangerously close to the truth, but Alex was ignoring it entirely. "It was just some guy at the hotel; it's not a big deal."

"Pence?" Alex pressed, entirely undeterred. He gasped, pressing a hand to his heart as though scandalized. " _Jefferson?_ "

Y/N was glaring daggers into his playful gaze. He was joking -- _of course_ he was -- but that didn't stop the panic from rising in her throat, the burning at the tips of her ears. Thankfully, Angelica scoffed, apparently finding the idea too ridiculous to even entertain.

"Alex, don't be silly," Eliza interjected, putting a hand on his forearm. Her kind gaze had fallen to Y/N, who hoped dearly she was going to put an end to his taunting. That was before the impish smile spread across her lips. "Y/N would never get with a Republican. She's too attached too her politics."

"Oh?" The look in her eyes had Y/N skeptical, if not anxious.

"Of course." Eliza nodded reasonably. "So it would've had to have been Lafayette, obviously."

Y/N's groan was even louder that time, before Angelica and Alex had a chance to chime in.

"Is that why you don't want to be his roommate?" Angelica gasped. "Was it _that_ bad?"

"Or was it just so good you wouldn't be able to control yourself around him?" Alex wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Y/N deadpanned, meeting his eyes. "C'mon, Y/N, you can tell us."

"I didn't fuck Lafayette!" she protested, but they didn't seem ready to drop it.

"Then why not ask to be his roommate, hm?" Alex appeared to have claimed victory.

"Because I can't--"

" _Really_ ," Angelica interrupted her before she could protest. "It'd be a great place to stay, so if you two weren't going at it, why wouldn't you go for the offer?"

"And if you weren't in--"

" _Okay_ , enough." Y/N cut him off with a huff. She wasn't angry so much as flustered, try as she might to appear to be the former. By then, she was desperate to get shift their focus from her sex life. "Will it take me agreeing to crash at Lafayette's apartment to get you off my back?"

She paused, if only for dramatic effect as her gaze flickered between her friends. "Then fine. Ask him. But don't blame me when he's not jumping at the idea of taking in a squatter."

Alex looked annoyingly smug. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled."

* * *

Predictably, Lafayette was more than happy to have her stay with him. He'd never had an aversion to houseguests, but he'd be bluffing if he tried to claim he hadn't taken a liking to her.

However, she knew it could only be temporary -- couch-surfing across the District of Columbia, unfortunately, wasn't a sustainable plan. She'd spent hours digging through her financials for some saving grace, but she came up with nothing.

Perhaps a wealthy distant relative would die soon and she'd be given all of the inheritance as their only living descendant? Certainly seemed possible. Now just to sign up for Ancestry.com, and--

"How much do we have left?"

Her eyebrows shot up as she glanced back at Lafayette over her shoulder, cutting her musings short. She tucked the folder she was leafing through discreetly into the side of the box, careful to hide its label; she wasn't proud of being caught with her nose buried into her old tax returns, trying to determine how feasible fraud or murder might be.

Though he had been doing more work than Angelica and Y/N combined, Lafayette seemed to be the only one not exhausted. He stood in the doorway, hands on his hips and his expression bright as Y/N and Angelica packed up some of the final knickknacks.

"Not much," Y/N told him. "Just need to get everything else into these last couple boxes, and we're golden."

The three of them had spent the past few afternoons gutting her apartment of anything that wasn't part of the building, so she wouldn't be starting from scratch when she found a place. Initially, Y/N had commissioned Angelica to help her with the move, but when Lafayette heard through Alex that they'd intended to spend the next couple days on it, he absolutely insisted that they'd need his assistance.

"Is zere anything else I can do?" He continued into the room, eyebrows raised, and Y/N pursed her lips.

"Turn down the thermostat?" she asked. "We don't need to be charged for another day of heating, no matter how cold it is out." (They were in the midst of a blizzard, but to each their own.) "Besides, it's too damn hot in here." She huffed as she tugged at the hem of her turtleneck, and Angelica looked at her knowingly.

"Well maybe if you hadn't needed to choose such a..." She paused, eyes settling somewhere around Y/N's shoulder. "... _strategic_ outfit, you wouldn't be having any problem."

Y/N's hand instinctively flew up to cover the spot, despite knowing it was hidden under a solid inch of nappy wool, and Angelica grinned, self-content shining in her eyes. Y/N scowled as her friend mockingly fanned herself, pulling at the collar of her own shirt.

"Ang," she warned. "Not the time."

"What? Don't want Lafayette to find out your dirty little secret?" Angelica teased, and Lafayette raised an eyebrow, his curiosity immediately piqued.

"Oh?" Lafayette's gaze settled on the neck of her sweater, and Y/N glared at Angelica. She hardly stifled her snickering. Lafayette raised an inquisitive eyebrow, though as a grin split through his face, his gaze turned teasing. Angelica's insinuation unfortunately wasn't hard to follow. "Wearing zat because you 'ave something to hide?"

"Not you, too," Y/N whined, and he laughed.

"Mmh, I don't recall you having any problems with zis when we were in Detroit, chérie." He folded his arms, expectant. "How 'ave you managed to go and get yourself into trouble this quickly?"

"Hang on," Angelica cut in before she could respond. "She came back from Detroit with a hickey, though."

"Impossible. I saw 'er ze last night there." Lafayette furrowed his brow, and they both turned to Y/N for an explanation. "What, exactly, 'appened between ze final night of debates and when you left in ze morning?"

"It was just some guy from the hotel." Y/N huffed. It was a half-truth, ultimately, which also made it her default response. "Stop making such a big deal out of it."

"'Some guy from ze hotel', hm?" Lafayette appeared wholly skeptical. He hesitated, considering his next words very carefully, before continuing. "You know, you never did tell me what 'appened with what I sent you on Twitter."

Her eyes widened a fraction of an inch. There was _no way_ he'd caught on that quickly.

"No correlation, Lafayette," she said, her jaw tense. She couldn't believe he'd _actually_ connected the dots that quickly.

Yes, his Twitter conversation with Thomas about her had been earlier on the final day, and yes, everyone involved with the debates was lodged in the same hotel, but it seemed like a flimsy premise.

"Maybe not." He shrugged. "But I am allowed to be curious about whether you ever... spoke to him." His eyes again traveled to her neck with his last three words, and she glared. Angelica looked positively baffled.

That was when it hit her. It was her conversation with Thomas the night prior that had raised Lafayette's suspicions. He'd already been wondering what about the state dinner had Thomas so pressed, and the confirmation about _exactly_ how Y/N had spent her final night in Detroit all but spelled it out.

"I don't know _what_ you're talking about, Lafayette." Y/N's tone was final as she shut down his less-than-subtle speculation, even though Angelica and Lafayette shared a skeptical look. Neither of them was oblivious to the fact that there was something she wasn't telling them. "I left the building long before him after the debates. Now can we _please_ finish packing before they charge me another month's rent?"

"Of course." Lafayette's tone was again light, having transitioned back to his cheerful self without missing a beat. The smile he wore then was slightly more knowing, however, and his gaze more calculating. He glanced at the floor around them. "So, which boxes need to be taken out, now?"

Y/N deadpanned. "All of them, Lafayette."

* * *

Y/N didn't have much luck finding a place from the comfort of Lafayette's oversized, imported-leather sofa. Unfortunately for her, all the boxes she needed to check for a studio apartment seemed to be perfectly out of line with one another.

She wasn't worried about the size. She didn't have much; she didn't need much space. Give her a place for a kitchen, a bed, and a toilet (ideally, a sink as well), and she was all set. So with that, price shouldn't have been a terrible issue -- she was flexible.

However, she couldn't find a cheap studio apartment that didn't have one ridiculously major pitfall. If it was close to work, the bathroom floor was beginning to cave in beneath her feet and the ceiling was leaking. If it was structurally sound, it was drowning in rats. If it was clean, none of the pipes worked. Her ideal didn't seem to exist.

She ultimately had to swallow her pride, though she couldn't help but choke on it in the process. Despite her resistance, she'd took Angelica's advice to work at her godparents' diner, but everything was a trade-off. Her second source of income meant spending less time on her real career -- no more unpaid overtime, no more events off-the-clock, no more pouring hours into research every evening.

Her boss was happy to strike a compromise, to her delight. She'd do dramatically fewer of them, and events would be on the clock. However, she'd be _obligated_ to cover every event that Ashley assigned her.

The lack of flexibility felt like a small price to pay. The next afternoon, it meant that Y/N didn't have to attend another local Republican primary town hall, which meant another day that she could avoid confronting what'd happened in Michigan. (However, that meant she was being sent to a Jefferson campaign fundraiser just days later, but you can't win them all.)

Instead, she took that time to go job-searching, which manifested itself strikingly similarly to Y/N begging her godmother for shifts.

"Mija, do you need money? You know you don't have to be shy; you can ask us for it." Y/N had shown up after her hours at the WaPo, and Mira pulled her by the elbow into the kitchen almost the moment she'd begun talking. She looked at Y/N with concern in her eyes, and Y/N sighed. This was exactly what'd caused her hesitance in the first place.

"Mira, I love you, but I can't accept that."

Mira furrowed her brow, tossed her dishrag over her shoulder before folding her arms. "And why not. Hm? You need it!"

"I know you only want the best for me, but I won't just take your money. Let me work for it, okay?" What they both knew went unsaid -- it'd stretch them thinner than thin to give Y/N any money, let alone enough to pay off her debts. "I've worked here before, more than once. I already know what I'm doing, so you won't even have to train me. Just let me pick up some shifts?"

Though she pursed her lips, Mira refrained from arguing. It would be to little avail. "Fine. If it means having you around more often, it'll be done gladly." Mira put on an adoring pout, reaching up to try to pinch one of Y/N's cheeks, who deflected it with a sigh that didn't hold even the facade of exhaustion. "You don't come around enough! We miss you, mija."

"You're too much, you know that?"

"And what's wrong with that, hm?" Mira winked, a grin working its way onto her face, before she nodded toward the diner's counter through the kitchen window. "I gotta go back to our customers, though. Talk to Jac about shifts, okay?"

"Sounds great."

Mira pulled her in for a hug, kissed her on the forehead before leaving. (She had to pull Y/N down to reach her head.) "You know you can always come to us if you need help. Always."

Y/N's smile softened. "I know, Mira."

"Good." She held her gaze just a moment longer, squeezed Y/N's hand, before she finally turned, leaving Y/N to look for Jac.

Jac -- short for Jacinto, but none of their grade-school friends really tried to pronounce it, and the nickname had stuck -- was Mira's son. He was a year older than Y/N, and they'd grown up as siblings in every way but literally before they both moved to DC within months of one another. So when she spotted him over toward the front of the kitchen slicing a ham, she didn't hesitate to go over and greet him, smile wide.

He jumped when she elbowed him to get his attention, letting out a yelp. He turned to see her, eyes wide, and he sighed. "Do you make a hobby of trying to get my thumbs cut off?"

She shrugged, feigning innocence. "I dunno what you're talking about. I'd never put you in danger."

"You pushed me while I had my hand in a meat slicer."

" _You_ put you in danger when you put your hand in a meat slicer."

He scowled, though they both knew his annoyance wasn't in earnest as he focused his attention back on his task. "What are you here for, anyway? If you want dinner, you're not exempt from the line."

"I need work."

That got his attention. "You do?" His eyes were wide, and she shifted her weight where she stood, not eager to own up to her financial trouble. "What for? Aren't you still doing great with the Washington Post? I saw you on TV last week."

"You've been watching me?" She put a hand over her heart, playing up how touched she was by his attention, and he just rolled his eyes. "Aww, Jac, I knew you cared."

"Answer the question."

A beat passed. "I need a second job," Y/N finally admitted, and he raised an eyebrow. "I just need another source of income. I'm drowning in student debt, and I need to build up some savings." It was mainly true. She didn't want to bring up her situation with rent, though; it'd just worry them more.

He pursed his lips, concern for her not leaving his gaze. "When are you available to work?"

"Any day after 5 PM, and I can almost always free up my full Saturday and Sunday."

He nodded. "And what'd you when you worked here before?"

"Baking, usually." His expression didn't change for a moment, and she added, "I also worked as a cashier and a barista from time to time, so if you need--"

"Relax, Y/N, you aren't up for review." Jac chuckled, wiping his hands on an old rag. She raised her eyebrows. "If you want work, it's yours. Mira just has me in charge of the schedule, so I need to figure out when to give you shifts."

"I'm flexible," she added, and he gave her an amused smile.

"I know." He went to the sink to wash his hands, in front of the kitchen window. "Would you be able to close up on weeknights? I mean, I feel like we can trust you not to rob the diner blind, and Mira and Orlando are too old to be working that late, so it's me doing it every evening."

"Yeah, absolutely." She glanced out the window at the packed restaurant. "Is it always this busy?"

"Every lunch and dinner," he confirmed with a nod. "They all clear outta here by about eight, though, so from then until nine, you're just left watching the stragglers leave."

She didn't answer, eyeing the crowd before her. The diner did good business; the tables by the front window were packed to an impressive density, and she couldn't figure out whether they were all there to eat together. (Surely that's too many for one group at a table, right?)

A younger couple moved out of the space, and she saw clear as day why they were all crowded right there. Her breath caught.

There stood Thomas Jefferson, laughing, shaking hands, taking pictures, signing autographs. He was even handing out buttons. Y/N raised her eyebrows. Wasn't he supposed to be at a town hall right then for the primaries?

"Jac," she hissed, keeping her voice low as though Thomas would ever be able to hear her from there. Jac raised an eyebrow. "Is he allowed to just be... campaigning from the back of the room? Doesn't he need some kind of permit to be handing things out?"

When Jac saw the crowd Y/N was staring at, he couldn't help but laugh. "Listen, I know he's not exactly your favorite person. I've read your writing--"

"You've read my writing?" she asked in disbelief, wearing a small smile as she pretended to be touched. He ignored it.

"--And I know you won't exactly be lining up at the polls to vote for him, but he's been a regular here for a couple of months, now, and Mom's gotten attached. He's not gonna get kicked out."

All the while, her skeptical gaze stayed fixed on his little posse, and when he looked up -- she should've expected the result; he was facing the window she was looking out of -- just a moment later, he locked eyes with Y/N from across the room.

Her eyes widened, but he seemed more surprised than she was. They both froze, hardly for a second, before he raised his eyebrow, his familiar (though unusually small) lopsided grin adorning his lips, and folded his arms across his chest -- _w_ _hat a coincidence_. His teasing front had taken root in seconds, but from that distance, Y/N was sure she was imagining the warmth of his gaze.

She blinked hard, as though she could've imagined him being there at all, staring back at her. He seemed detached from his immediate surroundings as she nodded to him in wary greeting. She had his focus for the time being.

After a moment, though, he appeared to have chuckled, shaking his head. When her gaze again met his rather pleased one, he gave her quite a pointed look as he brushed his thumb over the base of his neck, cocked his head to the side as though in curiosity. Her eyebrows shot up. It would've looked to anyone else like he'd smoothed out his collar, but she knew better.

She had to remind herself to keep breathing. His point was clear, his gaze expectant as she tried to hide her shame, reaching up to shift the neck of her shirt over the persistent hickey. All day at the office, her blazer had covered it, so when she left, she'd forgotten it would be exposed.

His smile seemed to grow as she reddened, and while she scowled, he held her gaze just a moment longer, before he sent her a sly wink. When he turned back to those around him, her interaction seemed to have heightened the flair in his demeanor, his persona exaggerated.

She didn't realize that Jac had watched the whole interaction -- he didn't make the connection with the hickey, thank _God_ , but the silent challenge had raised a number of questions.

"What was that?" he asked bluntly, and Y/N all but jumped, having nearly forgotten where she was.

Her eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"What do you think?" He cast a meaningful glance out the window at Thomas before looking skeptically at Y/N. "You know him a little better than you're letting on?"

"Of course not," Y/N scoffed. "I've just interviewed him a couple times. We're acquainted. Don't make it into a thing."

"...Right." He didn't press further as heat rose to her cheeks.

She cleared her throat. "Anyway, about that schedule?"

* * *

Despite her lack of success in house-hunting, Y/N adjusted easily to life at Lafayette's. He was a gracious host, and just being there gave her access to more space, food, and alpaca-fur throws than she'd ever need.

She'd just finished showering on that Saturday afternoon while Lafayette was out at the store. They'd run out of something or other -- she wasn't keeping close track. All his food was a cut above what she usually ate, so she wasn't about to make demands.

She yawned as she stepped out of the bathroom, wearing just a towel wrapped around herself; she knew she'd be alone in the loft for at least the next hour. She padded down Lafayette's hardwood hall, intending to get the turtleneck (that was seeing more and more use) from the laundry before she went to change. However, it seemed she hadn't heard the door to the apartment open over the sound of the running water sometime within the last twenty minutes.

It was after she'd retrieved her shirt that she realized it. Her room was on the other end of the loft from the room she'd elected to shower in. (It was an inconvenience she was winning to undergo -- the master bathroom had a sauna, an oversized vanity mirror and a shower stall nearly larger than her bed).

She hummed absentmindedly to herself as she emerged into the also-oversized main room, but when she did, she stopped in her tracks, let out a squeak of surprise.

There, standing frozen less than a yard from her, was the bane of... well, her month, maybe. To call him the bane of her existence felt too harsh. His eyes must have been wider than hers, though she looked mortified as she stumbled backward toward the couch. "Thomas?!"

He hadn't moved an inch from where he stood, facing her with shock in the open path that split the kitchen and the living room. "Y/N?

She sounded like she'd just had the wind knocked out of her as she asked, "What the _hell_ are you doing here?"

"I have a lunch meeting with Lafayette," he said simply as his gaze began to trail down her form suspiciously. Looking her in the eye, he cocked an eyebrow. "What are _you_ doin' here?"

"I'm staying here." She nervously pulled her towel tighter around herself as his eyebrows shot up. His gaze was humorless -- a rare sight, considering what she'd found to be his baseline.

"You're stayin' here?" he repeated in disbelief, and she nodded, feeling defensive. Again, his gaze drifted lower. "Is it just a one-night thing, or are you and Lafayette... ?"

She let out a short huff, almost a laugh in her shock. The implication was obvious. "Excuse me?"

"You'll have to forgive me for assumin'." Seeing her reaction, the offense he'd inadvertently provoked, he couldn't help the small smile twisting his lips. She rolled her eyes as he slowly grew amused.

"It's _neither._ " She scowled, skin feeling like it was on fire. The situation -- the amount of specifically _visible_ skin that felt like it was on fire -- combined with his speculation had her feeling borderline humiliated. She shifted her towel further up her chest.

Thomas raised a playful eyebrow. "Really, sweetheart?"

"Don't call me that." She glared up at him, in no mood for his clowning, and he chuckled.

"What, is that reserved for Laf?" he teased, and when she rolled her eyes, adjusting the towel she held around her, he laughed outright. "Aw, don't take offense, I'm only--"

"You're only joking," Y/N finished for him, appearing unamused, though heat still settled in the back of her neck and the tips of her ears. "Yeah, I've heard this one before."

His grin widened. "C'mon, don't freeze me out."

She ignored his response entirely. "Anyway, I'm just here as a houseguest. It's all temporary; I'm kind of between apartments right now." She hated that she felt like she had to explain herself, but she knew how it looked -- her, walking into Lafayette's living room hardly covered, and as far as Thomas knew, Lafayette couldn't have been far.

"What typa houseguest?" That was as far as he decided to push it, though, snickering as Y/N's glare burned into him. She shifted on her feet, uncomfortable as he eyed her before him, anxiety betraying her anger, and his gaze settled on the little mark on her neck she'd forgotten about in her temporary panic. Her eyes widened; he wasn't about to ignore it.

He met her eyes once again, though his shone with a satisfaction she couldn't prevent. "You _know_ I'm only kidding," he started, tongue in cheek as he tried to contain his amusement, and she looked at him in disbelief. "After all, if you were sleepin' with Lafayette, you'd have _a lot_ more than just one hickey, sweetheart."

She groaned loudly at his words, her reaction making him laugh outright as she pinched the bridge of her nose, and while he looked unspeakably smug, she wasn't entertained. Her skin still felt hot; she elected to believe it was from the shower she'd just left. "Alright, I'm gonna go change. Lafayette is still at the store, so he's gonna be a little late to your meeting."

Y/N began to walk off before he could say another word, but as she reached the opposite hallway, he called after her, the sound of his voice making her pause. She didn't have the good sense to cut him off, which she began to regret the moment she could hear his cheeky smile in his tone. "Can't complain, with this kinda company in the meantime."

She slammed her door behind her, but its sound didn't drown out his laugh.

She stood there idle for a moment, trying to gather her bearings and conjure up the strength to deal with him until Lafayette came back. She would've just stayed cooped up in there for the rest of the afternoon, waiting Thomas out, and she knew it would've worked -- to her knowledge, he wasn't _that_ much of a pervert -- but it was just before noon, and all she'd had that morning was a granola bar and a black coffee.

Y/N considered her options as she pulled on actual clothes, including the turtleneck she'd retrieved from the dryer. (She didn't need any more comments.) Some part of her was simply desperate to avoid the awkwardness, or otherwise just her own discomfort, and instead wanted to burrow into her sheets and stream reality TV, but as she was about to give the thought precedence, her stomach growled in protest. She checked her phone. Lafayette had given no indication of when he'd be back.

Grudgingly, she returned to the kitchen, deciding that avoiding Thomas wasn't _quite_ worth her harrowing famine.

"Missed me already?"

She immediately second-guessed her decision, however. She paused in the hall, taking a deep breath to calm herself despite his raised eyebrow, his expectant smile, and she continued, keeping the Tupperware of Lafayette's homemade pasta at the forefront of her mind.

"Missed Lafayette's pantry," she corrected, refusing to look him in the eye.

"Guess I'm just an added perk."

She huffed out a sarcastic laugh as she opened the refrigerator, scanning the shelves for the chicken alfredo she had her heart set on. "Don't let it go to your head."

" _Never_."

She pursed her lips to hide what was becoming a soft smile, unironically that time -- but she didn't have to for long. After another moment of searching, she realized the Holy Grail of pasta leftovers was gone, apparently having been eaten in less than the past twenty-four hours, and she groaned, shutting the fridge and leaning against its door.

"What's wrong?" She turned around to see Thomas sitting in one of the chairs Lafayette had stationed beside the kitchen's island. He quirked an eyebrow.

"You wouldn't understand." She sighed dramatically, turning instead to the freezer to withdraw her plan B.

"Oh?" He looked thoroughly entertained at her theatrics, clearly not buying a moment of it. Y/N nodded, folding her arms.

"My pasta leftovers are gone."

He snorted. "Oh, the horror."

"Don't you mock me!" She huffed as she dug through his food, bending down to withdraw everything she'd need for her second-choice lunch. "Now I have to eat old fries."

"A true tragedy."

"I'm glad you agree."

He grinned at how matter-of-fact she sounded as she pulled out pre-packaged fries, and he leaned forward onto the counter, resting on his elbows. "Any chance I can get some water?"

She turned to him with a raised eyebrow. "It's not my kitchen; do what you want." She tipped the plastic bag into a bowl until it was just overflowing (the fact that they were smiley fries instantly improved her mood) before popping it in the microwave. However, when she reached up to grab a glass for herself, she pulled two down without thinking, filling them both.

When she turned back to him holding both cups of water, his smile was soft, but the moment she raised an eyebrow at him, a grin split through.

"I like the sweater," he commented mildly, and she paused where she stood, giving him a dead stare. She stood there a moment as he bit back a laugh, before she turned.

"Nope. You're not getting the water. Good try, though. I'm pouring it out." She shook her head as she started walking back toward the sink, though she had to swallow the amusement that threatened to rise.

"Hey, c'mon!" he laughed, and Y/N glanced back at him over her shoulder. She raised an eyebrow. _"Sweetheart."_

"Thomas."

"Have some mercy," he pleaded. He gave her a hopeful smile, eyebrows raised. "Would it help if I mentioned that I was just teasin'?"

A beat passed, and she didn't move an inch. Ultimately, though, she scoffed as she turned back to him, caving with little resistance. He grinned when she slid him the second glass, though she rolled her eyes at his antics. "Y'know, you can only use that excuse so many times, Jefferson."

"Seems to be working for me so far." She leaned on the counter across from him, and he asked, "So why're you livin' with Lafayette?"

He looked inquisitively at Y/N as he took a sip of water, and she sighed. "Just... got into a bit of a bind with rent at my old place. Couldn't have kept paying, so either I had to move out or they were gonna evict me." She shrugged, looking down. "I'm just here until I can find somewhere I can afford."

While most of the U.S. was no stranger to vanishing savings and student debt, Y/N had a feeling that Thomas was part of the small minority with no experience in the particular field. From what she knew of him, he'd been born into money and then proceeded to stay in it, so he wasn't the first person she'd have chosen to admit her financial struggles to.

Still, when she looked up, he wore a small frown, apparently concerned. "'M sorry to hear that." His voice was quiet, and she let out a dry laugh at the unexpected shift in his demeanor.

"Thanks, Thomas."

He seemed to take the surprise in her tone as skepticism, and he pursed his lips. " _Really,_ I am."

She took a sip of her water, shaking her head in light amusement, but when he finally caught her eyes, her gaze was soft.

"I know."

She held his stare another moment before she sighed, rolling her shoulders back and plastering on a smile. "Anyway, I'm in the lap of luxury until I find a new place, so I suppose I can't complain."

"You talkin' about the penthouse or me?" Thomas didn't miss a beat in restoring his playful smile, and despite herself, Y/N laughed.

"Can't it be both?" She quirked a brow, and he seemed pleasantly surprised at her response.

"You comin' onto me?" he asked, incredulous, and she rolled her eyes -- she'd dropped her front of annoyance by then, however. He sighed, giving her a contrived look of pity. "Oh, sweetheart, I hope I didn't give you the wrong idea."

"Shut up!" she scoffed, shoving his arm from across the counter, but his grin in response was contagious.

"I dunno, Y/N. I might have to report you to HR." He raised his hands as though to claim defense. Her amusement didn't subside.

"I'm sorry, did I cross a line?" she mocked him, and he cocked a brow.

"If this was crossing a line, then what was Detroit?"

Her breath hitched. The question caught her entirely off guard, her playful air giving way for her anxiety to take over. The traces of a grin still on his lips were the only remaining sign of his teasing demeanor, but despite them, she could see in his eyes that poking fun at her wasn't the aim behind the question.

Really, what _was_ Detroit?

She took a deep breath, not breaking his gaze. She didn't have an answer for him -- at least, not the sort of answer she knew he was looking for. She gave a small smile and raised an eyebrow, her voice quiet when she replied, "An HR scandal?"

Despite his small smile, he was searching her expression, looking for anything that might shed light on her ambiguity. He sighed, and neither looked away.

He looked like he was going to press the matter, and her pulse began to pick up, but she was saved by the bell. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the front door opened.

"Y/N?"

They heard Lafayette before they saw him, and despite the mundanity of the scene he'd come home to, Y/N couldn't help but feel like a deer in headlights.

"Hey, Laf." Her voice was hesitant as he turned to lock the door behind him, balancing his paper bag of groceries on his knee.

He turned to the pair of them with a bright smile, pausing only a moment when he saw Thomas seated at the counter. He furrowed his brow. It wasn't a second later when he appeared to be struck by realization, and he sighed, eyes wide as he walked over to put the groceries on the counter.

"Ah, Thomas, was today our lunch meeting?" The words were less of a question than an admission. "I am so sorry; I put it down on my calendar for ze wrong afternoon. I am still available, if you are not too angry after my being zis late?"

"Nah, don't worry about it." He shrugged. Anything pensive about his demeanor had seemingly been pushed down when he saw Lafayette. He flashed him a carefree grin. "Didn't have anything else to do today."

He hummed in acknowledgment, though he still appeared apologetic. "You are too forgiving."

It was then that he reached the kitchen to put away the food he'd bought, and he glanced over his shoulder, looked between Thomas and Y/N where she leaned over the counter toward him. He turned back to the pantry to hide the grin Y/N knew he wore. "Although, I am sure Y/N was very..." He met her gaze, eyes narrowed, and she wore a warning stare. "...accommodating. Non?"

He didn't think Thomas could see it as he sent Y/N a sharp wink, but he wasn't quite as sly as he'd like to believe. Y/N scowled. All three of them knew his words suggested more than their surface implied.

Thomas was grinning, however. While Y/N's face was burning, he seemed wholly amused. "'Course, Laf. She's been nothin' if not hospitable."

She looked over at him with dead eyes, and his smile just seemed to broaden.

"I am glad to hear it." Lafayette raised an eyebrow at Y/N as he finally rejoined the pair, eyes shining. "Maybe I do not 'ave to feel so guilty about being late, hm?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, pushed herself off the counter to retrieve her long-forgotten fries from the microwave. "Don't you two have a meeting to get to?"

"Of course, chérie." The charm in his smile was contrived. "Let me go get my notes from my study?"

The words were directed at Thomas, who shrugged amiably. "Meet you back down here." However, the moment Lafayette left, he leaned on his elbows over the counter, tongue in cheek, and raised an eyebrow at Y/N. "Any idea why Lafayette's actin' like he knows somethin' I don't, sweetheart?"

He looked unbelievably smug, though he raised his eyebrows with feigned innocence, and Y/N glared. "No clue."

Though she left the room in a huff, she couldn't help that she was pushing down a smile for the next hour.

* * *

 **Y/N sent** : you showed up late on purpose didn't you

By that point, it'd been just over three hours since Thomas had arrived, and for Y/N, having to write yet another article about him hadn't proved to be much of a distraction. Unable to stop fixating on the afternoon's events, she ultimately texted Lafayette, not bothering to sugarcoat the accusation.

 **Lafayette sent:** what do you mean? i would never stand someone up

 **Lafayette sent** : i hope you are not accusing me of having ulterior motives. i am a principled man.

Y/N rolled her eyes at that.

 **Y/N sent** : convenient timing for you to decide we needed a second backup gallon of milk

 **Lafayette sent:** i am just trying to keep my houseguest well provided for

 **Lafayette sent** : how ungrateful

 **Y/N sent** : and what, exactly, were you trying to provide today??

 **Lafayette sent** : i have no idea what you are talking about. it was just a gallon of milk.

 **Lafayette sent** : however, in completely unrelated news that has nothing to do with today, you should not ignore it when opportunity knocks

 **Lafayette sent:** or when he rings the doorbell, i suppose

 **Y/N sent** : he let himself in. feels like breaking and entering.

 **Lafayette sent** : even less work for you

 **Lafayette sent** : i try to be helpful when i can

 **Y/N sent** : we have very different ideas of help

 **Lafayette sent** : you don't have to interpret something as a gift for it to be one

 **Y/N sent** : was the gift the complete lack of pasta you bought to replace mine??

 **Lafayette sent** : i think you know the answer to that.

She did, of course, but his words also had her thinking. Lafayette obviously saw himself as having done her a favor, but really, Y/N had to ask herself: _did_ she see it as a gift? It was a nerve-wracking half hour. It was one of only three times she'd ever been alone with him, and the first since Michigan.

Was it really a gift, or had he actually set her a trap?

She threw her phone onto the bed with a huff.

* * *

 **IT WASN'T A** day later when Y/N saw Thomas again, but that time, she was in no mood for his antics.

It was one of her first days back to work at the diner, and while she'd known it was busy during lunch and dinner, she had entirely forgotten how overwhelming the crowd was during weekend rush hours. So, unfortunately, that Sunday was a wakeup call.

She'd already been on her feet for five hours; it was just after 1 PM, and she'd elected to take the opening shift that morning (it meant she could leave earlier, and that was good enough for her). However, with the sea of customers that continued to leak into the restaurant, her exhaustion was growing and growing. Moreover, Jac had let it slip to her that the tenant who lived above the diner had just moved out, and she was stuck in her head trying to figure out a way to bring it up to Mira that didn't reek of desperation. Her focus was entirely elsewhere, by then.

"Hi, what can I get you?" She'd just rushed back from making two cappuccinos and still had to get back to the ovens to make sure her bread didn't burn, so with how preoccupied she was, she hardly noticed who was standing before her. He, however, realized immediately.

"Oh... Hey." Thomas's eyes were wide as he looked down at Y/N, but her reaction to him was nothing but expectant. He cleared his throat, trying to bury how stunned he was, and she turned her attention to the screen as he gave her his lunch order. She didn't look up as a grin began to grow on his lips. By then, she'd obviously taken note of his presence, but she was far too tired to care. "So you're a barista now?"

He quirked up an eyebrow as she frantically typed in his order. It seemed to be as complicated as possible, and she would be lying if she said she didn't suspect that it was intentional. She huffed. "We can't all live in penthouses on Capitol Hill," she bit back at him irritably, and his expression went from playful to surprised.

"Hey, now." His tone was lightly offended as he furrowed his brow. He swiped his credit card, eyeing her warily as her stare bore into the keypad before her. "Was just gonna comment on your many talents, but alright."

She sighed as she met his eyes with a tired gaze. "Name for the order?"

He furrowed his brow. "Seriously?" She stared at him expectantly, though the corners of her lips twitched up almost imperceptibly. He rolled his eyes. "It's Thomas."

"And how do you spell that?"

"Like you've never written it before?"

Y/N was growing progressively more amused, tongue-in-cheek as she looked up at him, but her smile was well-suppressed. She wasn't going to let up. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean." She raised her eyebrows, silently challenging him to call her out. However, he'd apparently decided to play along instead.

"I'll let you guess that one, Ms... " He trailed off, squinting at her nametag, and she was having trouble swallowing the laugh that had begun to bubble up in her throat. She pursed her lips, trying not to find the whole ordeal endearing. "Y/N?" He looked up with an eyebrow raised, as though to confirm the pronunciation, and she gave him a sarcastic smile.

"Your order will be out shortly."

He grinned. Despite the irony in her expression, his was heavy with mirth. "Thanks so much, sweetheart; be sure to vote Jefferson in the primaries." He added a wink to his words as he put his wallet away. She rolled her eyes, biting back a scoff.

"I'll keep it in mind."

She finished sending in his order as he walked off with a grin before she retreated back into the kitchen, the other barista appearing to momentarily relieve her of her cashier duties. She was still in the thick of the lunch rush, and she couldn't lose track of her priorities -- especially since they were running quickly out of lemon bars, and it was rising unfortunately rapidly in importance for her to finish the yet-to-be-baked batch. Not that it contributed to her decision to move to the kitchens or anything, but she also couldn't stamp out the heat rising to her cheeks or her unyielding smile. (She couldn't explain them, either.)

"What's got you all smiley?" Jac raised an eyebrow as he packaged carry-out orders, and she quickly pressed her lips into a thin line. She slid the uncooked pan of lemon bars out of the refrigerator.

"Just glad to be back at the diner." She turned away from him with her dismissive excuse. The oven was always preheated for one reason or another, so she just slid in her pan, quickly withdrew her finished loaves of bread, and continued on, but Jac wasn't ready to let it go just yet.

"So it doesn't have anything to do with--?"

"I've gotta go back to mixing drinks, Jac; the line is a mile long," she cut him off abruptly, and he deadpanned. His pointed glance out the kitchen window toward the table where Thomas was sitting said all it needed to, and though she didn't miss it, she ignored it. "Let me know if you need me back here for anything. Can you take the lemon bars out when they're done?"

"Mm-hmm."

She ignored his suspicion as she rushed back out to brew another pot of coffee. She was still at work; she couldn't let herself ruminate on a two-minute interaction when there were customers who'd been waiting for at least half an hour, and so she let it slip to the back of her mind as she jumped from one task to the next, until finally--

"Order up for--" She heard a pause as she glanced toward the other end of the counter, seeing her coworker squinting at the receipt, before calling out, "Secretary Jefferson?"

When he went to collect his food, Y/N was perhaps overly pleased with herself, but she was also wholly unashamed of it, especially as she couldn't help but notice his amused smile. He raised an eyebrow as he passed her, and she met his eyes brightly.

"Enjoy your food, Secretary Jefferson."

"That's a new way to spell 'Thomas,' huh?" he commented dryly, a brow raised, and she shrugged.

"Gave it my best guess."

"I'm sure you did."

* * *

Up until then, Y/N had spent the past week letting her writing take a bit of a back seat, her focus instead on her more recent financial crisis. However, it seemed Ashley wasn't going to let her off that easy. She'd reminded her on an abundance of occasions (more than twice a day over text and whenever they passed in the office) that researching everything there was to know about Thomas Jefferson was still her job, that she'd still need to go to campaign events -- it as only a matter of time until the other shoe dropped. To her dismay, the 'other shoe' apparently meant she was required to make another day trip to Charlottesville, and it may have been one of her only work commitments, but she wasn't going to refrain from grumbling about it.

The only benefit of the situation was that her gracious host and temporary landlord also happened to be going, so she didn't have to go miserably navigate another black-tie political fundraiser alone.

When Lafayette pulled up in a Mercedes, she rolled her eyes. They _were_ going to spend almost as much time in the car as they were at the venue, but it also appeared he wasn't going to let her slip under the radar as she'd hoped.

The mocking went both ways, though. Where he was excessively flashy, she was _astoundingly_ fixated on her own comfort, rather than style. Lafayette laughed outright when she came to his car in a formal dress and a pair of slippers, pearls and pajama pants. (It was the middle of a blizzard, though, for fuck's sake. She didn't intend to freeze, and she _certainly_ didn't intend to try and traipse through the mounting snow in four-inch heels and stockings.)

The ride south was painless if she didn't consider Lafayette's substandard taste in music or how poor visibility was. (She wasn't behind the wheel, so the latter wasn't her problem.) When they reached Monticello, though, she wasn't sure painless was how she could've described the rest of her night.

It was already dark when they arrived, the snowfall not having let up for a moment, and she whined about having to trade out her slippers for her heels, almost unwilling to sacrifice her pajama pants. However, entering the mansion had her almost immediately forgetting her strife.

Monticello was a grand estate. Staircases curved up either side of the entrance hall, coats being taken near one wall as everyone was funneled into the grand parlor -- not before passing the first of many elaborate chandeliers, though. The atmosphere was alight; the air held the warm, sweet scents of cinnamon and cherry wine -- at least, by Y/N's best, unrealistically-specific guess, but regardless of whether she was correct, she'd already begun to salivate.

"Shall we sit?" Lafayette offered her his arm, which she took, not for the sake of appearances, but because her feet were absolutely _killing_ her, and she was desperate to take a load off. She looked up at him gratefully.

"Yes, please."

* * *

Much of their evening was uneventful. Lafayette socialized while Y/N networked; he drank four glasses of wine as she worked through her first; he pulled people to his sides to sing with him to the music of the cellist at the back of the room, and she took vigorous notes about the statuses of every campaign patron she interacted with. Needless to say, they had rather disparate experiences.

"Oh, Y/N!"

She stumbled backward as she was all but jumped on the edge of the parlor, being pulled into an enthusiastic embrace, and her eyes were wide when she recognized the smiling face of her assailant.

"Dolley! Hey!" She pulled away with a laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The woman had become increasingly affectionate as Y/N had begun to see her more often, and if she'd been comfortable hugging her when they first met, then being tackled that evening _did_ seem to logically follow. "How are you?"

She shrugged. "Been better, been worse. I'm at another campaign event, so that should tell you all you need to know." She checked her hip lightly against Y/N's with that, wearing a playful grin, and Y/N couldn't help but laugh.

"You and me both."

"I take it you're here on work, then?" Dolley took a sip of her wine, an eyebrow raised. (Y/N was rather impressed that the glass hadn't sloshed all down her dress, what with Dolley immediately ambushing her upon entering her line of vision.)

Y/N sighed. "I always seem to be. Not even allowed to get drunk at these events. How fair is that?" The complaint held little true bitterness, though, with the playful glint in her eyes.

Dolley looked indignant on her behalf. "You poor thing; they've really put you through the wringer, huh?"

"You don't know the half of it." Y/N's mock exhaustion provoked a laugh from Dolley, who pursed her lips, ultimately shrugging.

"You _did_ gain me from it though." Her matter-of-fact tone made Y/N roll her eyes. "Count your blessings, Y/N."

"Really. I can be so ungrateful." She shook her head, upholding her exasperated facade, though when a grin split through Dolley's mask of disappointment, Y/N couldn't help the corners of her lips quirking up.

"What's tonight's article about, anyway? A critique of the baked brie? 'Thomas Jefferson Doesn't Know How to Throw a Party: An Exposé'?"

Y/N let out a huff of mirthless laughter. "If only. Instead, I'm supposed to be digging up some of Schrödinger's dirt on the campaign funders. My editor has no idea whether it exists or not, but here I am anyway." She paused with that, cocked her head to the side, pondering the question. "Now that you mention it, though, maybe my true calling _was_ to be a food critic."

"Follow your dreams," Dolley agreed, nodding. "It'd probably be more exciting than this thriller of a crowd."

Y/N laughed at that. While the atmosphere was upbeat, she'd hardly seen any signs of life among its attendees, if she didn't count Lafayette's drunken instrumental karaoke. "What, the over-60 crowd of doctors and lawyers isn't doing it for you?"

Dolley grinned. "That's where you come in, dear."

"Suppose I should be glad to hear it," Y/N sighed as she eyed the room, forcing the false nonchalance into her voice. "Might have to change my exposé to how our prospective second lady is just using me for her own entertainment."

She hummed in agreement. "Mm, be sure to mention how cold and aloof I always am."

"You truly are cruel to me, aren't you?" Y/N met her eyes once again, her gaze wistful.

"Bet your readers will love to hear such a scandal."

"I can see it now," Y/N agreed, holding up her hands to paint the headline as she continued, "'My Toxic Relationship With Dolley Madison. Be Ready for the Articles of Impeachment.'"

As she laughed, a self-content smile adorned Y/N's lips. "What, are you planning to impeach me from the role of 'possible future second lady'?"

"Of course; I figured the implication was obvious," Y/N agreed, making the older woman roll her eyes.

"I wish you the best of luck with that, sincerely."

"I'll need it."

Dolley had been about to respond with a dry quip of her own, but Y/N's gaze was over her shoulder, not realizing she was cutting her off as a smile split through her face. "James!"

(Dolley wasn't too hurt as she learned who she'd been cut off in lieu of.)

The man in question was approaching the pair of them with two full glasses of wine, presumably one to replace what Dolley had just finished throwing back. (Why not? No one was counting.) "Y/N." He gave her a curt nod, amused smile playing at his lips.

" _James_." It was then Dolley who addressed him, reaching out to grab his extra glass from his hand without a second thought, expression longing, but James pulled it just out of her reach with his eyebrows raised.

"Haven't you had enough?" he asked his wife with a glint in his eye, who in turn huffed, folding her arms.

"Don't you _dare,"_ she complained. "I'm here for _you;_ let's not forget."

"Of course not." He leaned down to press a kiss to the side of her head as he handed her the glass. Her small smile altogether betrayed her glare.

"Dunno why I put up with you." She pursed her lips into a pout, and he shrugged.

"Your prerogative, Doll."

She held his warm gaze for a moment longer before she seemed to remember herself, and she took a step back from him, turning to Y/N as her tender expression was immediately replaced with a grin. "Anyway, James, Y/N is here covering the demographics of your and Thomas's donors."

She gestured toward Y/N with the hand still bearing a full glass, and Y/N didn't comment when upwards of a tablespoon sloshed over the rim with the motion. James raised an eyebrow, wearing his forever-unshakeable look of composure. "That right?"

Y/N nodded with a light sigh. "Unfortunately."

"And what have you found, so far?" James's lips were pressed into a thin line at how exhausted she appeared, giving his best effort to hide his amusement.

"Oh, it's been real exciting stuff, hasn't it, dear?" Dolley wore a facade of sincerity as she addressed Y/N, her brow knit as though deep in thought, and Y/N matched her disposition.

"Absolutely scintillating, truly. I've only fallen asleep about fourteen times, which is a real feat for corporate America." She nodded to James earnestly as to corroborate, and he raised an amused eyebrow.

"Consider me impressed." Y/N gave a cheeky grin, and he continued, "Have you enjoyed what you've found thus far?"

She hummed skeptically. "Couldn't tell you. I was asleep the whole time."

That coaxed a laugh out of him, though. "I expect this will be a glowing article, then."

"The less I learn, the better?" She cocked an eyebrow as she glanced around the room, her gaze drifting from one wealthy businessman to the next.

"The less you conclude, the better," he corrected her with a knowing smile as he followed her gaze across the sea of patrons. "Don't assume anyone you speak to has the full story."

"Would you care to comment, then, James?" He turned to her with her eyebrows raised. "Because I really need some actual information, and I really don't want to go interview Jeff Bezos."

"'Jeff Bezos'?" he repeated quizzically, and she shrugged as she looked back to him.

"Seems like his type of crowd, no?" James chuckled, shaking his head as she continued, "What about Steve Forbes? I wouldn't mind getting a quote from _him_ before the writers who actually work at _Forbes_ can manage it."

"We aren't taking donations from CEOs or super PACs, actually."

"Really?" Her eyebrows shot up. "Is this on the record?"

"It can be." He looked mildly pleased with her reaction as she scrambled to create a new audio file on her phone. "We didn't want--"

"Shh! Gimme a minute. It hasn't started recording," she chastised him, and his smile grew at how exasperated she looked. "Alright, now speak."

"I'm a politician, Y/N, not a trained monkey." His indignation was wholly in jest, but she sighed dramatically, looking at him with a deadpan stare.

" _Of course_ you aren't," she consoled him with an air of faux-sympathy, but he seemed to expect -- and rightly so -- that she wasn't done making fun. "You don't tell monkeys to speak; that's for show dogs. I'm not stupid."

He ignored the sigh that accompanied her words, raising an eyebrow. "So you're comparing me to a dog?"

Again, she plastered on a front of fatigue, which only compounded upon his amusement at her demeanor. "James, please, _I'm_ supposed to be the one asking the questions here."

He rolled his eyes, but it seemed he'd exhausted his banter for the time being. "Please, ask away."

"So, back to CEOs and PACs. Why won't you take their donations?"

"We want to show that we're really here, in this, for the people." She cocked her head to the side, lifting the phone to be sure to catch his words, and he continued, "We want to demonstrate that we have no conflict of interest with the corporate sector. And if we don't receive enough donations for the campaign, then we don't have enough support to properly represent the people."

Y/N was silent a moment, brow furrowed, and she nodded ever-so-slightly as she pondered his words. Finally, she admitted, "I didn't think this was that kind of campaign, to be honest."

Her reaction seemed to gratify him; his eyes shone with pride. "You thought we lacked principles, you mean?"

She pursed her lips. "It's... possible that I may have made some assumptions."

"Well, I'm always happy to be the bearer of good news."

"Glad to receive it," she agreed quietly. The look in her eyes was absent, but her momentary trance broke almost before they'd noticed it, and she donned a wide smile. "Maybe you'll actually have some common ground with my readers this week, hm? Truly bridging the partisan divide. What a feat." While her enthusiasm was contrived, her words were sincere, and Dolley grinned.

"We knew you'd come around to our side."

"Woah, woah, woah." She held up her hands in playful defense. " _I'm_ not the one changing sides. This was our political territory first."

"You really think Adams is rejecting corporate funding?" James looked at her expectantly, and she deadpanned.

"John Adams is _not_ representative of his entire party, I can promise you that much."

"But he's the candidate."

"Not yet, he isn't," she resisted, and James raised an eyebrow. "It isn't fair to hold him to the standard of the party nominee when we've hardly started the primaries."

He tilted his head to one side as he regarded her, lips pursed. "Maybe not, but Thomas has been consistent with his values since the very beginning of our campaign."

"Who said _Thomas_ was the standard?"

"What are we callin' me the standard of, now?" The southern drawl caught Y/N off-guard, and she flinched, her eyes widening. She turned reluctantly to see James's ever-so-principled candidate in the flesh, an eyebrow raised and wearing an amused grin as he came up on her left behind Dolley.

"Thomas!" To her relief, Dolley's overwhelming affection bought her a moment to gather her bearings as she pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. "Oh, how are you? I haven't seen you all night!"

Y/N couldn't explain why her throat was suddenly dry as Thomas slowly removed Dolley from where she'd latched onto his shoulders, nor why her stomach turned at the sight of him. He was beaming almost as brightly as Dolley as he held her by the forearms, but Y/N missed what they were saying. Her heart had begun pounding in her ears, and she wiped her sweating palms on her dress as discreetly as she could, tucking her phone back into her purse in an attempt to busy herself with anything other than his presence as he went on to embrace James. She prayed she'd find an opportunity to remove herself from the conversation unnoticed.

Her opportunity never came. She emerged from her bag to see Thomas looking over at her with an eyebrow raised, apparently entertained by how abruptly flustered she'd become. "Y/N."

She pulled the straps of her purse back up to her shoulder with a weak smile. "Thomas. Hey."

She couldn't fully explain her sudden anxiety, didn't know quite why her heart was racing. Maybe it was just that he'd surprised her, or that he'd walked into a conversation that he was the focus of -- or maybe, though she discarded the thought deep into her subconscious, she was simply blindsided by being confronted with his presence in public, still struggling to figure out where it was the two of them stood.

Though she shifted uncomfortably, folding her arms, he didn't look away for another moment. The silence grew deafening, but she didn't have it in her to break his gaze, and she swallowed roughly. When he finally turned his attention from her, he chuckled almost imperceptibly; his smile had broadened.

"So what'd I miss?" He looked brightly over to James, making no effort to conceal how pleased he was. "You all talkin' about how great I am?"

"You're not far off, actually," James informed him, wearing a knowing smile. Thomas's eyebrows shot up. "We were discussing our campaign funding policy."

"And we're not already bein' smacked in the press for it?" He looked at Y/N with mocking disbelief, and she just rolled her eyes. She elected to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks.

"Quite the contrary," James said with a nod. "Y/N was impressed."

James looked contented, but Y/N could almost see Thomas's ego tangibly swelling, and he turned to her with wide eyes, surprise flashing in his gaze. "Is that so?" He sounded as smug as he looked, and Y/N fixed him with a flat stare.

"Are you really looking for acclaim just because you aren't corrupt?" she asked dryly. When he didn't respond, it became increasingly obvious that praise was exactly what he wanted, and she rolled her eyes. "Congrats, Thomas. You must be _so_ proud."

"Trust me, sweetheart, I am." His smirk had taken root, by then; there wasn't anything she could've said or done to knock him down a peg. "Thought it'd be a cold day in hell before you'd support anything my campaign was doin'."

"Then maybe there are a few things you should re-evaluate," she replied, voice stiff, and he laughed.

"Or maybe," he began, raising a cocky eyebrow. " _You_ should re-evaluate your party loyalty. Y'know, the primaries aren't gonna end for another couple months. You aren't runnin' outta time just yet."

"It's gonna take a lot more than that to convince me to register as a Republican, Thomas."

"You'll come around." His words came alongside a wink, which evoked a scowl from her.

"We'll see about that."

"Mm, sounds like a challenge, Y/N," he teased, a singsong lilt in his tone. His eyes narrowed as he took a sip of his drink, and the preying glint in his gaze sent a shudder down the back of her neck. "But I think you'll find I can be _very_ convincing."

* * *

"Hey, how much longer do you want to stay?"

She'd finally managed to track down Lafayette near the refreshments table at the back of the room, and by then, he was well past tipsy.

"We cannot leave yet! Where 'ave you been all zis time? You 'ave been missing all ze fun!" He threw an enthusiastic arm around her neck, throwing her off balance a moment, and as his wide grin didn't waver, she sighed.

"Laf, I have to work in the morning."

"Ah, loosen up, first," he pleaded, tugging her alongside him toward the crowd near the music. (She wasn't sure how he'd managed to get a crowd of politicians and businesspeople turnt to Brahms, but she was undeniably impressed.) "You will regret not enjoying yourself, chérie!"

"I think it's a little too late for that," she muttered bitterly, though he was too absorbed with the energy of the room to notice.

"What was zat?"

"Nothing," she told him, louder that time. "I'm gonna go find a bathroom, real quick."

"Non! You are just trying to get away from me!" He was more insistent that time as he pulled her to the cellist, and she huffed.

"C'mon, I'll be back in a minute, okay?" She hesitantly removed his hand from his shoulder, and he gave her a disappointed glance. "I've just had a little too much to drink; gimme a break."

As feeble as her excuse was, seeing as she'd hardly had a drop of anything all night with her effort to stay painfully sober (and their drink options didn't go far past wine), Lafayette released her with a pitying wince. "Ah, no worries. I understand." He hesitated a moment, before adding, "Do you need me to 'old your hair back?"

She couldn't help her laugh at his genuine concern. "I think I'll be alright. Thank you, though."

"Be safe, chérie!" His voice was all but slurred as he pressed a sloppy kiss to the top of her head before wandering off, and she pursed her lips, amused as she watched him go. She would've tried to keep an eye on his blood alcohol content, but he was already drunk to the point of no return, and he seemed too enraptured by what he'd made of the evening to break away for long enough to refill his glass again.

She chuckled lightly, shaking her head as she turned to leave. The first left she took just led her into the dining room, so she turned back toward the entrance hall, trying to find any nook or cranny that split off into a part of the estate where she could have some quiet. She wasn't sure what she was trying to find, necessarily, but she wasn't about to get wasted with Lafayette. _One_ of them had to be able to drive home.

A right, a left, and another right later, she'd gained next to no information on where exactly she was heading, other than that of the sitting room she'd just passed. Her watch told her it was just past 11 PM, and she sighed. She wasn't sure when she'd be able to drag Lafayette back out the front doors, at that rate.

The hall she continued down didn't lead her into a bathroom, to her dismay, but what she saw had her footsteps gradually stalling as her gaze raked down the walls around her. She'd stumbled upon a rather grand library, and one look to her right told her that it would only continue on the further they walked.

She glanced back over her shoulder, and seeing only the empty room she'd just left with its empty armchairs, gave in to her curiosity, wandering toward the side of the room with wonder in her eyes.

The bookshelves reached the ceilings, and every book was bound in aging leather, many torn or cracked at their spines. It had to be some sort of a collection, with the sheer number of novels -- and biographies, and anthologies of poetry, of short stories, even memoirs and atlases, as she realized just moments later. She ran her fingers over the gilded edges as she continued on into the next room.

The hall ended in a small sitting room, one that didn't have nearly the same pomp and circumstance as the rest of the estate, but it was cozy, with its red sofa and armchairs, its wood-burning fireplace and little lamps. The room was illuminated softly with the only light filtering in being from the adjacent rooms and the moon, and the small fireplace cast a warm glow before it.

She bit her lip, wore a small smile as she drew closer to the window at the back of the room. Her gaze was fixated on the bookshelf beside it, and -- as every book, every spine and title came into clear focus -- despite her hesitance, she pushed herself up onto her toes, reaching for a volume more than a foot above her head. Before she could pull it down, though--

"Should've known you'd find the library at some point."

"Thomas!" she squeaked in surprise, recoiling from the bookshelf -- she'd recognized his voice immediately, her eyes wide. She whirled around to see him leaning against the doorway and unconsciously took a step back, feeling much like a child who'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

He didn't look angry, though. In fact, his expression was far from it. His gaze was soft, his arms folded and ankles crossed, and though he looked amused, his smile held none of its frequent mockery despite her clear panic.

He raised an eyebrow, and she blinked hard, immediately began to try to excuse her presence there. "Shit, I... I didn't mean to end up here, honestly, I was just looking for the bathroom, and I--"

"Relax, sweetheart, you're not under fire." He chuckled lightly as he pushed himself off the doorway, walked toward her into the room. "Looks like I'm not the only one who needed some air, huh?"

His gaze flickered down just a moment as she bit her lip. "Really, I was just trying to find the bathroom," her words were quiet, hesitant, and he raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Oh, really?" She nodded. "Go ahead. It's down the end of the hall and to your right." He tilted his head toward the rooms behind him, and her brows shot up. She hadn't expected to be put on the spot about the excuse -- she'd initially produced it just for Lafayette's sake and wouldn't have thought it needed to be any more thorough than it was.

She was reluctant to take a step forward, and she glanced back over her shoulder at the bookshelf, desperate not to leave after she'd _just_ struck gold, as it were.

"I..."

"You...?" He waited for her to continue, his skepticism never subsiding, and when she didn't, staying rooted to her spot, a smug smile began to play at his lips. "That's what I thought.

She hated how easily he'd called her bluff, and she refused to meet his gaze as it grew increasingly self-satisfied. She scowled. "And what are _you_ doing back here?"

"Didn't I just tell you I was lookin' for some peace and quiet?" He raised an eyebrow. "Or did you think someone just left that fire to try and burn this whole place down? Hm?"

She could feel herself flush as she crossed her arms; she hadn't thought that far into the fireplace that was active long past when it should've been, admittedly. "So you're just trying to run off while you have a parlor full of people giving you copious amounts of money right around the corner?"

"Somethin' like that."

She furrowed her brow. " _Why_?"

"Do you have any idea how exhaustin' this gets?" He looked down at her, wearing a timid smile. "I've been gettin' grilled all night; you'd be tired too."

Y/N raised her eyebrows, putting on a playful expression of shock. "You're telling me you actually get tired of talking about yourself?"

He cracked a grin. "Nah, just talkin' about the _rest_ of the country. Y'know, the voters, the ones I'm supposed to be representin' or somethin'."

"Be careful, or this is gonna end up in this week's editorial," she warned him, though she couldn't inhibit her smile, and he cocked a brow.

"Oh, yeah? You gonna expose me?" The skepticism was heavy in his words alongside his confident smile, and she shrugged.

"Don't tempt me."

He chuckled, taking a few more steps toward her, the gap between them slowly closing. She swallowed. "Anyway, what's got you tryin' to escape? Lafayette gettin' a little too handsy?"

His teasing quickly had been restored, and she rolled her eyes, ignoring the latter half of the question. "Turns out talking to old philanthropists is just as exhausting when you're the one asking the questions."

"No!" He gasped mockingly, placing a hand on his heart. "You mean workin' till midnight isn't doin' it for you anymore?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong; this is _exactly_ my idea of a good time," she said defensively, though, with the sarcasm in her voice, she couldn't hide her own growing smile. "Usually more of a weekend activity, though. Can't handle this much excitement on a Wednesday."

"And ransackin' my library sounded like a good way to relax?"

"Glad you follow.".

"Find anything you like?" She raised her eyebrows as he further encroached on her space, feeling her breath catch. He stopped beside her, scanning the bookshelf along the back wall, but she was struggling to focus on his words as his shoulder brushed against hers, and she tensed, shied away from the contact. Before she caught herself, her absent stare rested at his lips in the closing proximity; her heart rose to her throat. He raised an eyebrow when she didn't answer, and upon seeing how she was looking at him, he gave a smug grin. "Not includin' me, I mean."

Her eyes widened; she prayed she didn't look nearly as red as she felt as vindication flashed in his eyes. He only continued to watch her expectantly, until finally, she turned alongside him to the books she'd been eyeing. Her gaze didn't take long to find where it'd been fixed before he interrupted her musings.

"I..." She went to reach for the book she was eyeing, but she trailed off as she stopped herself short, glancing nervously back to Thomas. "Can I?"

"Go ahead, sweetheart." He grinned as she stretched up toward the shelf that housed it. She let out a soft, frustrated sigh when she couldn't reach it, pushing herself further up with a hand on a lower shelf, almost jumping for it; all the while, Thomas's smile grew. "Need a hand?"

"Please." Her expression was defeated as she looked to him, and he pulled the book down with ease. She could only focus on his hand resting at the small of her back as he reached above her, his fingertips seeming to burn as they grazed the thin material of her dress, though he was just being careful not to inadvertently tumble into her. He didn't notice how she shivered under the fragile touch, and he raised an eyebrow as he looked the volume over.

"Lord Byron? Really?" He looked down at her curiously, ever-present teasing in his eyes. "Didn't take you for such a romantic."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Thomas," she replied, looking up at him with her gaze soft, before she cracked a grin. "Besides, what better way to relax is there than reading poetry about the ravages of war at midnight on a Wednesday?"

He laughed. "That's an awful specific type of self-care."

"Can't help that the over-fifty crowd you've assembled has me so riled up."

"I'd think the 19th century would be even wilder."

"So it'll help get my energy out," she quipped. Her gaze was tentative as it flickered back to the book he still held, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Then don't let me get in your way." He held the book out to her, smiling at her hesitance, and she accepted it readily, looking pleased as its title, embossed in gold foil, flashed in the moonlight.

"Always a philanthropist, huh?" Her reply was soft, absentminded, though; she wasn't looking for a response. By then, she was already caught up in the grandeur of the aging anthology of poetry. She settled into one side of the sofa as she hesitantly cracked the spine, terrified by the prospect of damaging it.

She didn't notice Thomas watching her with endearment, didn't even realize when took a seat on the couch beside her until the side of her thigh brushed against his. And when she did notice, she didn't react, though her skin jumped under the thin material of her dress. "This is gorgeous," she said, leafing gently through the book's weathered pages, running her fingertips along little stray marks and notes penciled in. After a moment, she looked up at Thomas. "Where'd you get it?"

"Think it was my great-grandfather's. It's been in the family for a while."

Her eyes widened. "How old is it?"

"This edition's from around 1900," he said, shrugging. "Bought it secondhand years later, though."

"It's more than a hundred years old?"

He chuckled at how dazzled she was, her eyes gleaming and her mouth hanging ajar. "And this is probably its first time bein' opened in fifteen years."

Her eyebrows shot up; she was appalled that anyone would have such an ornate, century-old copy of the book and leave it to collect dust on a shelf. "Why have it if you're never going to read it?"

"My family's been collectin' books for as long as we've been around, sweetheart."

"Writing isn't meant to be collected." She let out a sigh as she looked back to the collection of poetry that lay open in her lap, fiddling absentmindedly with the ribbon attached at the spine. He raised an eyebrow at her statement. "It's supposed to be _experienced;_ it should make you _feel_ something. It's a waste to just lock something like this away."

"Feels like that hit close to home." Though his voice was teasing, it was quiet, inquiring. She laughed, but the sound was hushed.

"I _am_ a writer, Thomas." She looked back up at him with a demure smile to find that his gaze hadn't left her as they'd sat. "Or have you forgotten altogether that's why I'm here?"

He furrowed his brow, frowned, though his voice was playful. "So you mean you aren't here just to see me, sweetheart?"

She laughed again, unabashedly that time, as the mock disappointment faded from Thomas's face. His grin matched her own. "Please, I haven't even talked to Mark Zuckerberg yet. I thought it was fairly clear that I didn't come for the company."

"Not even for Dolley? Lafayette?" She shrugged innocently, and he teasingly bumped his shoulder against hers. "That's tough."

"I trust you won't rat me out."

He winked mischievously. "Don't count on it."

"Hey!" Her offense was far from sincere, with the joking lilt to his voice and the laugh close to the surface of hers, but she couldn't help her huff at how immediate his answer was. She pursed her lips, plastered on a pout. "If my secrets aren't safe with you, then brace yourself. You'd better get ready for an exposé about how Thomas Jefferson absolutely despises every one of his donors."

He chuckled. _"Do_ I, now?"

"You _are_ back here instead of out there with them."

"Mm, and you're obviously not exaggeratin' at all."

"I don't need to." She shrugged. "Since _apparently_ these books don't even get read, you don't have much of an alibi for ' _needin' some air._ '" She leaned into the last three words in a painfully contrived southern accent, air quotes and all, and he grinned at her mocking impression of his voice.

"You think I sound like that?"

"Precisely." She nodded, her tone matter-of-fact, and he rolled his eyes despite the laugh he fought back.

"Anyway, some of these are bein' taken out every once in awhile, but since it's not my library, I've gotta take advantage of them while I can."

"'Not your library'?" she repeated quizzically, and he shrugged.

"I mean, it's the family library, but I don't come down here much." She couldn't help but notice how fond his voice was as he glanced around the room. He grinned when he turned to find her watching him. "I _am_ still livin' on Capitol Hill, in case you forgot."

She pursed her lips, trying to conceal how her smile was growing. "And you'd sacrifice your night of schmoozing patrons and getting donations just to be back here?"

"I've schmoozed enough donors for one night. Besides--" Y/N shifted in her seat, slowly closing the book in her lap as she turned further toward him. "--James _was_ always better at understandin' people."

"So we're just gonna pretend that slacking on the job isn't the reason you're back here?"

"Shh, c'mon. I'm makin' informed decisions as a professional." By then, he'd shifted the same way as she; they were facing one another on the couch, despite being shoulder-to-shoulder. He grinned in self-satisfaction. "I'm takin' on the responsibility of bein' the only person who reads these books."

"How truly self-sacrificing."

"I'm a man of the people, sweetheart." She chuckled lightly, leaning into the cushion on the back of the couch, and for a moment, they were both silent; she bit her lip at the heavy pause. His gaze flickered down to her lap, to the collection of poetry she'd shut but still continued to run her fingers over, tugging at the top of the spine, fiddling with the stacked corners of pages. He cocked his head to the side, and though he looked uncertain for a moment, his voice was decided. "Take it."

Her eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"The book." He nodded toward where it sat, all but ignoring her surprised stare. "Borrow it. Don't worry too much about returnin' it, just get it back to me whenever you're done with it."

Another beat passed as she sat stunned, certain she couldn't have heard him right. When he raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to answer, she exhaled softly, glancing down at the book. "Thomas, I couldn't possibly."

"Why not? It's a library; we're supposed to be loanin' 'em out, aren't we?"

His nonchalance about it had her entirely dumbstruck, and she bit her lip. "And what if something happens? What if it gets ruined?"

"I'm the only one who's gonna notice; I promise." He grinned. "No one's readin' it here, anyway."

She took a shaky breath, looking him in the eye. "Are you sure?"

His smile had softened at the awe in her expression. "Positive, sweetheart."

"Thank you, Thomas." She covered his hand that still lay on the couch with hers, squeezing it lightly.

"It's nothin'."

"Maybe not to you." She knocked her knee gently against his, and it was her expression that was playful this time, though her words were nothing but genuine. "But it means a lot to me. Really."

His eyes sparkled with affection as he threaded his fingers into hers. "I'm glad."

She bit her lip, holding his warm gaze. The room seemed to slow as she felt herself hesitantly shifting toward him. With her movement, when he saw how she drew deliberately closer, Thomas unthinkingly reached up with the hand that wasn't enclosed in hers to brush a stray lock of hair away from her face. The feeling of his calloused fingers as they grazed the side of her head sent a shiver down her spine, and when his hand didn't fall, ghosting his thumb across the expanse of her cheek, she leaned into the touch.

"Thomas." Her grip on his hand tightened in the slightest, her stare fell unabashedly to his lips. Though hesitantly, she pulled closer to him.

However, he hadn't moved. Reluctance lay thick in his gaze as he searched her expression. As she looked expectantly up at him, waiting for him to close the space between them, he just swallowed.

Finally, he spoke. "What are you lookin' for, from me?"

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"You're harder to read than you realize, sweetheart." She blinked. Was the implication not obvious? Wasn't she laying out in the plainest terms possible what she was looking for? Did he need really her to ask for it? He pursed his lips. "Whenever I think I've figured you out, somethin' changes."

"What do you mean?" she breathed. She pulled back to where she'd initially been sitting, almost hurt but _certainly_ embarrassed as she withdrew, and his hand fell from her face. He didn't release her hand that still lay in his.

He sighed, shaking his head. "I mean the mixed signals. Wantin' me when we're alone and avoidin' me like the plague in public. Askin' me to kiss you in Detroit and then runnin' out on me. I can't just keep guessin'."

She stayed silent, unsure of what she could possibly say -- it wasn't often that she was left speechless, but this time, he was right. She'd always been of two minds with him. Rationally, she couldn't have him, not when they were from such different worlds, had such conflicting careers, but when she was alone with him, she couldn't help herself. However, she couldn't have expected him to so plainly call her on it.

"I wanted to talk to you about it at Lafayette's, but I've never been able to figure where you stood. And now this..." He trailed off, raking a hand through his hair, breaking her gaze. He huffed. "I just don't know what to make of you."

It was guilt that sunk in her chest at his words, but indeterminate regret weighed heavily on her conscience. "Thomas, I..." She couldn't go on with the response. There was nothing for her to say, not when her head was still in pieces, not when her career needed one thing but her libido demanded another.

He held her gaze another moment, shaking his head when it revealed absolutely nothing, when it couldn't tell him what he needed to hear. He took a deep breath as he stood up. Her hand that'd been holding his fell to the soft corduroy of the cushion. "Just... forget it. I shouldn't have brought it up." He started toward the hallway, and her eyes widened.

"Thomas, wait." After the initial shock of the point-blank confrontation began to subside, she scrambled to catch him as he began to leave, tucked the book under her arm and rushed out toward the hallway. When he heard her giving chase, he reluctantly turned to her with raised eyebrows.

"Y/N?" His tone was expectant, almost hopeful, but it was still disappointment that flickered in his eyes. She paused; she didn't know what to say, but she didn't want to let him leave like this, not when uncertainty hung so heavily in their atmosphere. He sighed. "Until you figure out what you want, I can't help you."

She didn't look away just yet, though. She wanted to have an answer, something, _anything_ to tell him -- she was desperate to find some way to create some normalcy between them, to make things as easy as they always seemed to be. She had nothing to offer, though, other than, "I'm sorry."

He gave her a faded smile. "No need."

Y/N couldn't help her small frown at how gentle his voice still was, as though he was worried about hurting her, of all things. She glanced down at the leather-bound book she still held, and she pulled it out from beneath her arm.

"I suppose I should give this back, then." Her voice was soft as she looked up at him, and he shook his head lightly.

"Keep it." His gaze was kind as he pushed back on the book where she'd offered it up. "It's alright. Leave it with Lafayette when you're done."

He looked down at her expectantly, and she took a deep breath, hesitant. "Or I could return it next time I see you?"

Despite its tone of melancholy, his smile grew at how hopeful she sounded. She couldn't bear to let this feel so final. "Whenever works, sweetheart."

She swallowed, nodded, but her shoulders slumped. A moment passed in silence as she stared up at him, and though he looked inexplicably composed, even casual as he waited for her response, she couldn't help but feel defeated. "Alright, Thomas."

He nodded; she could hear him swallow in the complete silence as his laid-back facade faded, the noise undisturbed save for the soft crackling of the fireplace. He released his hold on the book."I'll... see you around, Y/N." He gave her one last, drained glance, before he turned, leaving her alone.

She didn't respond.


	6. Snowed In

**THOSE FINAL FEW** minutes played on a loop in her head throughout the entirety of the next day, and the article she was writing didn't help -- every time she typed up any pieces of information about his funders, her mind regressed to his dark, quiet library, their soft banter as she learned he was sneaking off right in the middle of his own party. And with that, inevitably, came her picture-perfect memory of the heaviness of his gaze, the hurt that still lay dull in its depths. She didn't have any way to alleviate the guilt that rose from her stomach like bile.

She could only ruminate on that night for so long, though. That past Monday, when she'd asked, Mira had offered her residence in the flat above her diner. As a tenant, she'd still cover rent and utilities, but Mira had readily cut her a deal in the share of the bills she was paying -- one that made the small apartment more than affordable for her, and in exchange, her only new commitment was to closing up the diner in the evenings.

She'd spent the first half of the week moving in, and by Thursday, the space was finally liveable. Angelica insisted on inviting herself and the Hamiltons over for a housewarming party that evening.

"This place is great, Y/N." Eliza smiled as Y/N emerged from her kitchen holding four glasses and a bottle of sparkling grape juice. (They'd all abstained from drinking in solidarity with Eliza.) Y/N didn't comment on how none of the furniture was different even in the slightest from when she'd lived with Angelica, that there wasn't anything new for her to have even been appreciating; she was too satisfied in having found a place at all.

"Glad you think so." She grinned as she passed around the drinks, ultimately taking a seat in the armchair beside the couch. "Moving was a bit of a pain, but I'm glad to be at my own place, now."

"Lafayette wasn't a good enough host?" Angelica interjected, a playful eyebrow raised. Y/N rolled her eyes.

"He was great, but staying with him was..." Images of Thomas walking in on her right out of the shower flashed in her mind. "Complicated."

"What do you mean, 'complicated'?" Alex asked with a wide smile, doing his best to derive some hidden meaning from her words. Y/N rolled her eyes.

"I mean I was freeloading in his expensive penthouse, Alex," she huffed, and he pursed his lips.

"It isn't freeloading if he's getting something out of it."

"And what _exactly_ do you think he was getting out of it?" She narrowed her eyes, and he held up his hands in his own defense, shrugged innocently.

"I'm just saying!"

"Oh, don't you _dare_ act like--"

"Enough, you two," Eliza cut them off with a tired stare. "We're here to celebrate Y/N finding her own place, not for you to bicker like children."

Though she was addressing both of them, her words were directed explicitly at Alex, her gaze burning into his. He gave a guilty simper.

"Of course not, love." He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek, and she gave him an affectionate smile despite how she was shaking her head at his antics.

"How are you feeling about living alone, then, Y/N?" Eliza changed the subject readily, more than happy to alleviate any of the tension Alex had been building in the room.

"Not that this could ever meet the standard of living with me, she means," Angelica added, and Y/N grinned, gave a timid shrug.

"Well obviously the loss of Angelica is utterly heartbreaking," she lamented with a sigh, "But I guess besides that absolutely irreplaceable loss, it's pretty good, all things considered. It's a bit of a trade-off with the late evenings I'd otherwise spend at my office, but c'est la vie."

She gave a rather stiff smile, and Angelica reached over to squeeze her knee with an empathetic frown. "I'm sorry, honey. I know it's not easy for you to put something else before your career."

"Nah, it's alright, I'm just getting a well-needed break from the excitement, not screeching to a full halt. Besides, my article from today's been getting me more than enough love." Y/N paused, her fingertips tapping on her wineglass as her gaze fell to the floor; she'd done a marvelous job pushing them down, but once again, the reminder of the article had brought the previous night's events dangerously close to the surface of her mind. She pursed her lips absentmindedly. She couldn't seem to think straight when it came to her predicament. "Actually... Can I get a bit of advice?"

Her friends all shared an inquisitive glance, before Angelica spoke. "Always. What's up?"

She let out a soft sigh, finally looking up at them. "So... it's about someone who I met through work." Alex's eyebrows shot up. "It's really silly and menial but... I just wanted someone else's take on my situation."

"Everything alright?" Eliza's voice was soft but heavy with concern. Y/N cracked a smile.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course, it's severely inconsequential." She took a deep breath as she tried to find the words for her situation that wouldn't immediately incriminate her. "There's just this person, and they're unfortunately incredibly hot, like undeniably attractive, and I'm having a really hard time not shamelessly throwing myself at them."

When she paused, Angelica furrowed her brow. To that point, her state of limbo didn't sound like much of an issue. She went on. "I also know they're into me, so it's not that I'm shooting for someone unattainable, but trying to screw them would make my life... complicated."

"Is it _because_ you met them through your job?" Traces of suspicion leaked into Alex's tone, but Y/N was too focused on her deep-seated angst to notice. She nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, exactly, actually." He furrowed his brow. "Like, in another context, I'd totally hit that, but given the circumstances, it's a little riskier."

"Is it one of your co-workers?" Eliza asked, glancing at Angelica, who shrugged.

"If it was, I'd hope I'd know about it." Angelica took a sip of her drink, wearing a small frown, and Y/N shook her head.

"I'm not hooking up with a coworker, don't worry. It's nothing illicit."

"So who is it?" While Alex simply sounded curious, Y/N knew him well enough to detect the suspicion buried in the question.

"I'd really rather not say."

"It'd be easier to help you if we understood the situation a little bit better."

Y/N looked to him with a sigh. "Alex."

"C'mon, why can't you tell us?" He pressed, pursing his lips. "There's no way it's that embarrassing, Y/N. What, do we know them, or something?"

When she didn't answer, just biting her lip, his eyes widened. " _Do_ we know them?"

She scowled. "It's not important! Can you just... help me? Who it is doesn't matter."

While Alex looked more than ready to continue to interrogate her, Eliza cut him off. "So how well do you really know them? How involved are they in your life?"

Y/N looked to her with a relieved smile, grateful that someone was taking her pseudo-sob story seriously. "I haven't known him that long. We met pretty soon after I started with my current assignment at the Post." (About an hour after, specifically, but who was counting?)

"So it's a 'him'!" Alex interjected unhelpfully.

"Yes, it's a 'him,' now stay focused." Y/N gave him a tired stare.

"And how long have you been, y'know," -- Angelica shrugged -- "trying to jump his bones."

Y/N laughed lightly at that. "I am _not_ trying to jump his bones, Ang. I'm trying to figure out whether I _should_ jump his bones."

"Fine, whatever." Angelica waved away the technicality impatiently. "How long have you been into him for?"

Y/N pursed her lips. "I mean, there's been some level of... tension," --she cringed at her own word choice-- "since day one, but I guess it's just been the past couple weeks that it became an issue."

"The past couple weeks... ?" Alex was more thinking out loud than actually inquiring, and Y/N rolled her eyes. She could see him trying to do the calculations in his head, as though he knew everywhere she'd been at all recently.

"What d'you mean, 'became an issue'?" Angelica's eyes were shining with the question, her eyebrows raised, and Y/N laughed.

"I came into this conversation asking about whether I should sleep with someone, and you're really trying to act like I'm being all coy about it?"

"Alright, fair enough, I'll give you that," Angelica conceded, grinning. "Have you actually had a chance to sleep with him yet, though?"

She tilted her head to the side, reflecting for a moment, and the list didn't take long to build -- his office, the hotel in Detroit, Lafayette's apartment, the back room of his estate, to name a few -- and she sighed.

"Once or twice, I guess."

"And what's been holding you back?" Eliza asked gently, and Y/N gave a small smile.

"That's exactly the problem: it's my career." She shook her head lightly. "I can't justify putting how horny I am before dreams as a journalist, but I'm not sure I can have both, either."

"How _exactly_ would the relationship hurt your career?" Angelica asked. "You're being too vague."

"First off, we're not discussing a relationship," Y/N corrected her, her tone firm. "It's _just_ sex."

"Yeah, fine, we know you don't date. We get it. Don't avoid the question."

There was a skip. Y/N chewed her bottom lip, considering. "I mean... it wouldn't destroy my career or anything. If something went bad, though, or I ended up burning a bridge, it'd get real awkward real fast."

"How often do you see him?" Alex spoke up that time, still appearing to be fixated on dissecting every detail of the situation. His eyes were narrowed, and Y/N ignored how his question was more probing than in an effort to help.

"I dunno," she shrugged, exhaled softly. "I've seen him at the past couple of events I've covered, and I've been seeing more of him outside of work ever since Detroit."

"Ever since Detroit," he repeated, a knowing smile growing on his lips. Y/N's stomach dropped. He couldn't know who she was talking about, right? He'd have looked absolutely _appalled_ if he suspected anything close to the truth, or so she hoped. He chuckled. "You've really been denying being into Lafayette this whole time, and now you're asking us for advice on whether you should screw him?"

Y/N's eyebrows shot up. "Hang on--"

"Oh my God, you're right," Angelica agreed, eyes wide, and Eliza cocked her head to the side, looking as though she thought the idea was more than reasonable. "The whole situation makes perfect sense."

"No, wait, I'm not--"

"First the gala, and then Detroit," Alex continued, undeterred by Y/N's pleas of innocence. "And 'seeing him more often outside of work'? You just spent a _week_ sleeping at Laf's apartment. You'd have had more than enough opportunities to bone."

"That explains why you were so anxious to find a place!" Eliza looked fully convinced of the theory, by then, and Y/N groaned. "It _would_ get awkward quickly if you tried to screw him and then keep living at his apartment for weeks afterward."

"You guys, I'm _not_ fucking Lafayette."

"Not yet, anyway." Angelica grinned. "That's why you wanted advice, right?"

"And you _were_ out with him last night!" Alex's eyes flashed victoriously. "The timing only makes perfect sense."

Y/N scowled. "Y'know what? It doesn't matter who you think it is."

"Sounds like an admission--"

" _But_ ," she cut Alex off with a pointed glare. "You have all the relevant information, and I still really need some input."

Her three friends shared a glance, all looking rather pleased. It was Eliza who finally spoke.

"Don't beat yourself up over it, Y/N." Her voice was soft, reassuring. "Any relationship, professional, platonic, or otherwise, can go wrong without sex ever being an aspect of it. You can't let the inevitable risk hold you back from the things you want."

Y/N was silent another moment; she couldn't help but feel that the advice was colored by their unfortunate theory of who was behind her sudden need for advice on her sex life.

"Besides," Angelica added, "If you're seeing him at the campaign events you cover _and_ outside of them, the sexual tension's just gonna make it weird until you bang it out." She rolled her eyes at the crude guidance, and Angelica just shrugged at the weak glare she gave her, taking another sip of her drink.

"This sounds like suspicious logic."

"She's kinda right, Y/N," Alex agreed, nodding to Angelica. "It's awkward now, and the worst-case scenario after you two fucked would be awkwardness later on. Nothing to lose."

"I never said it was awkward now," she protested, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Is it?" He took her lack of a response as an answer in the affirmative.

She huffed at how smug he looked. "Most of this advice only applies if it's Lafayette."

"Perfect."

" _Alex_ ," she seethed, her tired glare burning into his nonchalant expression. "What about giving me some advice for the off-chance I just might _not_ be referring to him, hm?"

Angelica shrugged. "The same doctrine follows, doesn't it? There's always a risk, and it's already awkward."

There was truth to her words. However, what Y/N hadn't and couldn't have shared was exactly how it would reflect on both her and the man in question if anyone were to find out they were sleeping together -- the Republican frontrunner screwing his most outspoken critic. She knew it'd raise eyebrows, she knew it would hurt both their careers, but was the risk real enough that it was worth placing at the crux of her decision?

Eliza was the one who eventually pulled her from her train of thought, reaching out to squeeze her arm reassuringly. "Hey. We support you no matter what decision you make, but it really seems like there isn't a downside to going for what you want here."

"Yeah?" Her voice was quiet.

"Yeah." She lifted her eyes to meet Eliza's gaze as she continued. "Now, it just comes down to you deciding whether this is something you really want."

She wasn't sure she bought into the idea of it as being as simple as that. It felt reductionist; it felt like it ignored all the variables she'd spent hours upon hours weighing in her own head.

However, if that really was the question, she knew without a doubt _exactly_ where she stood.

* * *

 **Y/N WAS GETTING** incredibly sick of leaning against the metal counter of the diner kitchen, counting down the seconds until she could actually close down for the night.

It was finally Friday, the end of her work week, and she was absolutely dying to finally reach the end of her shift. She was still waiting on a batch of brownies from the oven behind her, finishing up with washing the dishes to occupy her time, but no matter how she tried to distract herself, time only seemed to slow, taunting her. The keys to the diner were in her pocket; her fingers itched to turn the lock on the front door.

She checked her watch again. 9:56 PM.

The diner closed at 10.

She groaned as her watch didn't move any faster, glanced out the kitchen window to see that the last customer had already cleared out. She was growing tired, in part due to lack of sleep, but mostly, she was tired of her week of tearing her hair out in stress. Out the front window of the diner, she could see it still snowing; there was no way anyone was going to come through the blizzard less than five minutes before closing and demand service.

Her over timer pinged. She put down the mug she'd been drying and withdrew her tray, setting it on a cooling rack for the time being, and put the now-clean mug back on its shelf. She picked up another glass. The monotony was grating on her nerves, but she'd promised Mira she wouldn't close the diner until 10 PM sharp, so there she was.

She racked the glass. She reached for another. She dried it. She racked the glass. She reached for another.

Just as she began to wipe down the rim, though, the bell above the front door rang. Her grip on the cup tightened, frustration and disappointment shooting through her veins.

"Three minutes to closing," she called out from where she stood, trying (and failing) to keep the exasperated warning from her tone. With a sigh, she retied her apron and started toward the kitchen door.

"I know, I know." Whoever had decided to ruin her evening had the audacity to sound defensive. She furrowed her brow as she turned, beginning to push the door with her back as she finished cleaning the cup. The voice was eerily familiar. "'M just lookin' for a cup of coffee, and I'll be outta your hair."

With how preoccupied she was, though, she couldn't place where she knew it from until she saw him, looking as fatigued as she as he came in toward the counter, burrowed in his winter coat. She tried not to let her disbelief show across her face.

"Thomas?"

It wasn't until then that he saw her, either, emerging from the back with a skeptical gaze. He froze altogether; his eyebrows shot up. "Y/N. Hey. I, ah... I was expectin' Mira to be here." His voice was soft, and she looked at him expectantly for another moment, waiting, before he blinked hard, and continued. "...I can go, if you really... I mean I know you're just tryin' to close, and I don't wanna... I just, I--"

"It's fine." The words sounded at least as tired as she felt as she cut off his rambling. She reluctantly continued toward the front counter, and hesitantly, he did the same. She discarded the cup she'd been washing on a shelf along the back wall. "How do you take your coffee?"

Though she huffed internally, she tried to ignore it when she realized that she'd _just_ washed the coffee pot not five minutes before. While she started brewing his drink, he took a seat in one of the stools across the counter from her.

"Doesn't matter," he shrugged, wary. His qualms were still written clearly in his gaze. "Whatever's easiest."

As he'd had no problem coming in three minutes before she intended to close the diner down, his sudden respect for her time made her roll her eyes. She glanced back over her shoulder as the coffee began to drip, giving him a flat look. "Thomas. It's just cream and sugar. I promise it isn't life-changing. Just tell me."

When she raised her eyebrows, he reluctantly said, "One cream, two sugars?" She nodded, bending over to pull a mug from the cabinet below. "Thanks, sweetheart."

Though he couldn't see it, she wore a small smile as she drew back to her full height. Fatigue was heavy in his quiet voice. "It's nothing."

The silence stretched on as neither of them seemed to know quite what to say. Thomas's gaze was set on Y/N as she walked behind the counter; the only sounds were the soft thud of the bag of sugar on the counter, the click as the refrigerator door fell shut, and the clink of ceramics. She pulled the pot of coffee from where it'd been brewing, and the plink of the drink against the bottom of the cup grew higher as she poured. When she reached for the sugar, she again looked over her shoulder, and she found him watching her.

"Am I allowed to ask what you're doing here at 10 PM on a Friday?"

"Technically, I got here at 9:57," he said matter-of-factly, and she cracked a smile, sliding open the silverware drawer to withdraw a spoon.

"Then what about what you're doing here at _9:57_ on a Friday?" Her tone was mocking as she looked back at him, and despite the sleep in his gaze, he grinned.

"'M here for coffee, of course." He shrugged when she turned to him with the full mug, unamused -- the _'duh'_ at the end of the sentence was implied heavily in his tone.

As he gladly accepted the piping hot coffee from her, taking a delicate sip, wincing at the temperature, she raised an eyebrow and leaned across from him on the counter. "And you couldn't have gotten coffee anywhere else right now? Dunkin' Donuts? _Your house?_ "

"Not _this_ coffee."

"You mean the coffee I just brewed in a pot for, like, three minutes?" He nodded earnestly, and when she gave him a dramatically disbelieving stare, he shrugged, holding up his hands in defense.

"What? Mira roasts her own coffee. Can't find it anywhere else." He looked her up and down dubiously as though questioning why she could ever think his late-night pit stop wasn't justified. "And she won't sell me any without me comin' here every time I want it."

"So you'd have no issue busting in here right now if it was just Mira?"

"Somethin' like that."

Y/N furrowed her brow, leaning down onto her forearms. He looked nonchalant as he took another small sip of his drink despite the suspicion in her eyes. "When did you start coming here, anyway? Mira's annoyingly taken with you."

He grinned, his cocky lilt restored to his voice. "Can't help bein' such a charmer." When she scowled, rolled her eyes as she turned to put away the sugar and milk, he continued. "Three or four months. Stopped in here for a quick cup of coffee on my way outta work one night, and couldn't help stayin'."

"The coffee's _that_ good?" she asked, cocking a disbelieving brow. He shrugged.

"And the atmosphere. Mira's a real sweetheart; she's always good to me."

"So, what, you and she are just best friends now?"

"Jealous?" His eyes flashed playfully. Y/N rolled her eyes.

"Of you or of her?" she teased.

A wide grin broke through his expression at that. "Either one."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Hate to disappoint, but it's neither." She bit back a laugh at how hurt he looked; the pout he plastered on. "Anyway, is that why you're trying to crash the closing shift? Wanted to spend some quality time with Mira?"

He shrugged, unabashed. "More or less."

She nodded, the corners of her lips quirking up. "Sorry to disappoint."

"You could _never._ "

Y/N had to laugh at how contrived his conviction was, at what bordered on offense in his voice even at the idea of it, and the sound made him smile. "Thanks, Thomas."

She rolled her eyes as she turned to the shelves, finishing with the cup she'd been wiping down before he'd showed up, and she unplugged the coffee pot. As she began to wipe down the back counter, he spoke. "Should I get goin' then?" When she raised a questioning eyebrow at his sudden change of tune, glanced back at him, he added, "I mean, since I missed Mira 'n' all, and I don't wanna hold you up here later than I already have, I just thought--"

"That's alright. We're out of to-go cups for the rest of your coffee, anyway." When he didn't respond, she finally turned around, wiping her hands on the rag she'd been using to clean. She wore a teasing grin. "Or are you just that anxious to get away from me, hm?"

"'Course not." His smile broadened to match hers as she rested her hands on the counter before him. "Just figured you were countin' down the seconds till you could get rid of me."

"Don't worry, I don't have the patience to count by seconds." Y/N shrugged. "I've been counting by minutes, instead."

"Aw, sweetheart, I'm hurt." He put an offended hand to his heart, drawing back from her where he sat. "Thought we were friends."

She huffed out an involuntary laugh. "Shut up and drink your coffee."

She went back to her tasks with that, shaking her head lightly, tongue in cheek to stifle her amusement. She heard him take another sip of his drink, but when the cup met the saucer, he asked, "What smells so good?"

Her eyebrows shot up as she glanced back into the kitchen. "Oh, right, almost forgot about those." She looked over her shoulder at him. "I've been making brownies, still need to cut them." While he nodded indifferently, there was a wistful look in his eyes as he sat up straighter on his stool to see into the kitchen. She folded her arms. "You want one?"

His eyebrows shot up, and his gaze snapped to where she stood. "Really?"

She shrugged, mildly amused. "Sure. Since I can't seem to get rid of you, anyway."

"That's tough!" he called after her, offended, as she exited into the kitchen, laughing lightly.

She emerged not minutes later, holding two of the brownies; they were still just slightly warm from the oven, so cutting them was no ordeal. She pursed her lips. Thomas's mouth was all but watering as she walked back toward the counter, handing him the napkin one of them was housed atop.

"Enjoy," she commented mildly, suppressed her amusement at the longing in his eyes for the dessert.

"Thanks, sweetheart." His voice was soft. She pushed herself up to sit on the back counter as she ate hers, and when she looked back up, she saw him bite into the dessert, a soft moan escaping his lips. She laughed.

"Is it that good?"

"'S incredible," he mumbled, covering his mouth as he tried to speak, before he swallowed. "Shit, Y/N."

"You're just flattering me because I'm not booting you out of here, but I'll take it anyway."

While she looked rather pleased, he frowned. "You accusin' me of bein' ingenuine?"

"Where did you _ever_ get _that_ idea?" she asked sarcastically, shaking her head. He scowled.

"Hurtful."

"I'm sure."

He put the brownie back on the counter, took another sip of his coffee. "How'd you end up workin' here, anyway?"

She shrugged. "I've told you about my most recent financial crisis. I needed a second source of income."

"Why here, though?" He cocked his head to the side, and she raised an eyebrow, not quite following the aim behind the question. "I just mean, I haven't seen you around here until the past week or so. Was it just 'cause they were hirin'?"

She gave a small smile. "Not quite. Mira and Orlando are my godparents."

His eyebrows shot up. "Yeah?" When she nodded, a small grin formed on his lips. "That why you're so jealous of me and Mira bondin'?"

She rolled her eyes. "Like you could ever replace me?"

He shrugged noncommittally, making Y/N scowl. "I dunno, sweetheart. She and I are gettin' pretty close."

"Get your own mother figure, Jefferson."

"Aw, c'mon now, don't be greedy." He grinned at how progressively annoyed she was beginning to look. "What? Why should you get two mother figures and I don't?"

She wasn't quite following his line of reasoning as she cocked an eyebrow, and he shrugged. "Don't have a godmother, feels like fair game to me."

When she didn't answer, he creased his forehead. His voice was hesitant. "Y/N?"

She sighed, raked a hand through her hair as she offered him a smile. "I guess so."

With how weary she suddenly sounded, though, he didn't leave it at that. "What is it you're not tellin' me here?"

She cracked a grin as she met his eyes, amused by how he was looking at her. "Don't look so worried. Geez, Thomas. Mira and Orlando raised me, alright? That's all." She pushed herself off the back counter to discard her napkin.

However, as Y/N walked back toward where he sat at the counter, Thomas bit his lip. Her forced nonchalance didn't seem to quell his concern. "'M I allowed to ask why?"

She shrugged, but her voice grew quiet as she leaned onto the counter. "My parents passed on when I was pretty young." She deigned not to meet his eyes, swallowing as she fiddled anxiously with her watch. "Mira and Orlando took me in, so they're all I've had for a family most of my life."

"What happened?" he asked softly. One of his large hands enveloped hers on the counter, and his touch was tentative, nervous, waiting for her to brush him off. When she didn't, he squeezed her hand lightly, and she looked up at him with a sad smile.

"Cancer." He looked crestfallen; she just pursed her lips. "Dad got sick when I was around ten. He was in and out of the hospital for a few years, and my mom spent most of her time with him, getting him treatment, taking care of him, waiting at his bedside. When she wasn't with him, she was working overtime to pay his medical bills. I was alone at home almost every night, so I started going to sleep at Mira and Orlando's when I was twelve."

Y/N's chest was tight. When Thomas didn't interrupt her, just watching her, waiting patiently, she bit her lip, apprehensive to continue, but when he didn't fill the growing silence, she went on. "We thought Dad made a full recovery when I was thirteen, but by my fourteenth birthday, Mom was diagnosed. And it just felt like the same thing all over again."

She swallowed hard; tears stung the corners of her eyes, but she forced a smile, blinking hard, and huffed out a laugh despite herself. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to launch into a monologue on my childhood trauma. You don't need to listen to the full story just to be polite."

"'S alright." He offered her a soft smile, and when he brushed his thumb over her knuckle, she found herself squeezing his hand, a silent 'thank you.' "Go on. 'M listenin'."

She hesitated another moment when she saw the worry that clouded his gaze, but ultimately, she went on. "Right. Then, well, Mom was in chemo, and after about five months, Dad had a flare-up. Hospitalized him immediately. That's when I started living with the Murillos full time."

"Mira and Orlando?" he questioned, and she nodded.

"They got me through high school. I visited my parents when I could, but life went on, and as far as I knew, they were recovering." She shrugged, but her tone grew spiteful. She rarely talked about her parents, didn't want to think of how unfair fate had been to her growing up. "My junior year, they passed on within eight months of each other."

She pressed her lips together, and Thomas didn't release her hand. "I'm so sorry," he breathed, and she gave a soft smile, finally looking back up at him.

"It's alright, really." She shrugged, but she didn't move, didn't break his gaze. "It's been more than ten years. I miss them, but I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"I've had a decade to mourn them, and even though grief doesn't ever really leave, it subsides. I'm just fine."

He nodded as she gave him a mournful smile, and alongside the empathy in his gaze, she couldn't help but notice his own sadness shining through. "I know what you mean," he said softly, and Y/N tilted her head to the side.

"Yeah?" As far as she knew, Thomas wasn't an orphan, and she'd done extensive research into his background.

He gave her a sympathetic smile. "Just... about grief never quite leavin'." She waited for him to elaborate, and it wasn't until she raised an eyebrow that he did. "I mean, it's normal. You still think about them every day? Wonder what they'd think about you if they were here now? Feel like you still owe them something, like you have to live your life as though they're still around?"

She frowned. "Yeah, exactly." He nodded, and she furrowed her brow. Hesitantly, she asked, "Thomas, who have you lost?"

He shrugged as he released her hand, instead taking a sip of his coffee. He seemed like he almost thought better of giving her an answer for a moment, but then he spoke. "My fiancée died when I was twenty-three."

"That's terrible." Y/N's brow had immediately knit; she rested on her hands at the edge of the counter. When Thomas saw how she was looking at him, the sadness in her eyes, he chuckled despite himself.

"Wasn't the best time of my life, if I'm honest."

"I'd imagine." His smile was warm at the dry quip as he looked down into his coffee absentmindedly. He didn't look up, never saw the concern in her eyes. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Was a freak accident. Came outta the blue a year after we moved in together." He let out a bitter exhale, somewhere between a huff and a mirthless laugh. "She was hit by a drunk driver. Took her life on impact. I couldn't handle it."

It was her turn to take his hand, then. He'd begun to withdraw; vulnerability showed through his gaze, through his clenched jaw, through his antsy, almost undetectable movements. He looked up at her, when she did, and weaved his fingers through hers.

"Of course you couldn't, Thomas." She put her other hand atop where she held his. "No one would be able to. Mourning doesn't make you weak, it makes you human. It means you cared. But it also means you were strong enough to carry on."

"I wish I had." He looked dejected, by then, almost apathetic as he reflected. When she looked at him questioningly, she could hear him swallow thickly. "I didn't carry on. I ran. Moved away before her funeral 'cause I couldn't stand to see her casket. I didn't grieve for almost three years, just came to DC and started pourin' myself into my work."

"And what's wrong with that, hm?" His eyes had dropped again, and she leaned down into his line of vision, broke his absent stare. "Hey. What's so wrong with that?"

He let out a shaky sigh. "Never honored her memory. Didn't go to her grave or talk to her family until _years_ after she was gone."

"You were trying to cope. That's all you can do. Everyone deals with loss differently."

"But she didn't deserve that," he pressed. She creased her forehead; concern rested in her eyes.

"But what about what _you_ deserved, Thomas?" He cocked his head to one side as his gaze was brimming with inquisition. "Don't you deserve to take care of your own needs? Do you really think she would've wanted you falling apart?"

"Sweetheart, 'm not the one who was killed."

"You don't deserve to suffer just because you're the one who lived."

"But I shoulda been there, at her funeral, at her grave." He drew in a shaky breath. "Feels like I abandoned her."

Y/N hesitated. "You did say you went to visit her grave, didn't you? You did talk to her family?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"Then you did what you needed to do," Y/N insisted. "Wherever she is now, whatever afterlife you believe in, or don't believe in, she obviously hasn't been forgotten."

He nodded, sniffed as he pulled back. He rubbed the corner of his eye, taking a breath, and she didn't comment on it. He ran a hand through his hair as he forced his composure, restored his easygoing manner. His grin was back as though it'd never been gone. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

They shared a smile for a moment, and he pursed his lips. "Can I... ask you not to do anythin' with this?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "What d'you mean?"

"We were never married, so almost no one knows about her, other than close friends and family." He sighed. "'S not information you can find online. And I just..." He trailed off as he looked up at her, tone tentative. "I know you're a journalist 'n' all, but please, can I ask you not to take this to the press?"

While anxiety was clear in his gaze, her eyes were wide, surprised that he thought he even needed to ask. "Of _course_ , Thomas. I would never. It's safe with me."

"Thank you." A beat passed as she just stared into his eyes; with how he was day-to-day, with what she knew of him before, she could've never guessed how much pain he carried with him. He exhaled softly, gave her a grateful smile.

His trance seemed to break a few seconds later when she reached out to lightly squeeze his hand. He shifted in his seat, glanced at the clock above the kitchen door. "Shit, sweetheart, it's almost 10:40. You've gotta be dyin' to kick me outta here."

An apologetic grin accompanied his words, but as he searched her expression for some kind of response, Y/N recognized his question for what it was -- if he'd really wanted to go, he'd have already been pulling himself up, but did she want him to stay?

She shrugged, wearing a kind smile. "I mean, until our final customer is gone, I can't technically close up." He raised an eyebrow. "So really, I'm in no position to be kicking you out."

He shook his head, amusement slowly being restored to his features. "Really, now? An hour ago, you couldn't wait to get rid of me."

"Maybe I was just a worse employee an hour ago."

He laughed. "Aw, someone's gettin' attached, huh?"

She deadpanned as she met his shining eyes. His tone was nothing but teasing. "I take it all back. Get out. Go on."

"Aw, c'mon, sugar, I'm just kiddin'," he pleaded, though he showed no traces of regret. Y/N fixed him with a tired stare.

"You know where to find the door."

"Now, really?" he pouted, brow knit, and she rolled her eyes. "What'd I do to deserve this, hm?"

She scowled, though the amusement she tried to hold back lay clearly in her soft gaze. "Do you really want an answer to that?"

He seemed to think better of it at her words, and quickly changed tacts. "What about the rest of my coffee?"

"Dumping it out. No problem." She shrugged, and he huffed, giving her a fully manufactured look of disappointment.

"Thought we were connectin', and now this is how you treat me?" She held her skeptical stare, and a grin broke through his facade. "Now, what's Mira gonna think when I tell her you kicked out her favorite customer?"

Y/N regarded him wearily, in no mood for his schtick. His eyes were gleaming; he looked up at her with warmth coloring his gaze, and ultimately, when she found no malice in his stare, no ill intent, nothing but goodwill, she huffed.

"Fine. Whatever. Finish the coffee. In the meantime, since apparently, you're shamelessly becoming a parasite, I'm gonna get myself something to eat. You gonna want anything so I can save myself the trip?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Wouldn't mind another brownie."

"And now what's Mira gonna think when she realizes all of our bakery is gone tomorrow?" She folded her arms, turning his own words back on him, but he was unfazed.

"That you gave it to her favorite customer, of course."

* * *

 **AND AS THE** night slowly stretched on, the pair went on like that for more than another hour, recounting their pasts to one another, each passing judgment on the terrible hair cuts the other had in the 90s, reminiscing on college. Y/N was surprised to hear Thomas played the violin (she couldn't tell whether he was joking when he offered to play for her sometime); Thomas couldn't help but poke fun at her when he learned she wrote sappy poetry in high school (and in turn, she threatened again to kick him out). They always seemed to find an excuse for him to hang around just a little longer.

Eventually, midnight struck; both Y/N's and Thomas's attention was drawn to the little clock above the door that finally chimed.

They met each other's eyes for a moment, and while Y/N just waited expectantly, letting him make the call on his next move, Thomas sighed.

"I really should head out, sweetheart."

Y/N smiled softly; her teasing expression couldn't seem to mask the affection dancing in her eyes. "Finally. Can't close until you're outta here, remember? It's kinda rude that you didn't leave earlier, really."

He scoffed, despite that there was no real scorn in her gaze, and raised a brow. "Mm, and it was really rude of me to accept the coffee, and brownies, and leftovers you kept offerin' me every time I tried to leave."

"You didn't put up much of a fight, to be fair." She pursed her lips, giving him a pointed look, and he chuckled.

"Won't deny it."

She'd long since finished wiping everything down, including the dishes she'd been giving Thomas, and though she was far from pushing him out the door, she wasn't going to resist some much-needed sleep.

Thomas finally stood up from his stool, fished his wallet out of his coat pocket. "How much do I owe you?" He glanced back up from where he was leafing through bills, and Y/N shrugged, wearing a small smile.

"This one's on the house."

His eyebrows shot up. "You sure?"

"Mhm." She nodded, cracked a lopsided grin as she still leaned against the counter. "Consider it payback for the century-old book I've got stashed upstairs."

"Upstairs?" he repeated quizzically, and she nodded.

"Yeah, didn't I mention? This was the housing plan I figured out," she told him. "Mira cut me a deal in exchange for taking the late shift every night."

"Every night, huh?" he asked, mischief creeping into his expression. She raised a suspicious brow. "So you're tellin' me, if I was gonna show up at 9:58 next Friday--"

"Don't you dare!" she warned him, but when he laughed, his smile was contagious. "I'm gonna have to start closing up at 9:56 here on out."

"I can adjust." He sent her a wink before tucking his wallet back into his pocket, glancing out at the snowstorm beyond the store windows. Y/N was shivering just looking at it. He pursed his lips. "You sure you've got no to-go cups left?"

 _"No more coffee,_ Thomas," she said sternly, giving him a pointed look.

"Alright, alright! Geez," he laughed. "Guess I'll just have to show up tomorrow three minutes before openin' huh?"

She shrugged. "Be my guest; I don't work Saturday mornings."

"Then I'm gonna have to figure out your schedule."

"That anxious to see me again?" She cocked her head to the side, smug, and he winked.

"Always." He exhaled softly before finally turning toward the exit. "I'll see you around?"

"You know where to find me." He nodded, chuckled as he tucked his hands in his pockets, burrowing into his coat as he neared the door. "G'night, Thomas."

He cast her one final glance over his shoulder, eyes shining. "Night, sweetheart."

She shuddered at the gust of cold air that entered the diner upon his exit, finally going to lock up the front, drawing the shades before she went up to her flat. The brownies she'd made were put away, the chairs were all up; she did one final, brief sweep of the place, and hit the light.

She couldn't deny her fatigue as she reached her apartment, locking the front door behind her, but after discarding her apron into her hamper, she made the executive decision that she _needed_ to shower before she could go to sleep. She'd been going all day long and had begun to smell like a mix of old ham, coffee, and melted chocolate -- three good things in isolation, but not necessarily something Dior would be mixing into a perfume anytime soon.

She emerged from the shower less than half an hour later, and though it'd woken her up just a bit, it was nice to feel clean, putting on clean pajamas, being in her clean apartment.

She was just on the inoperational side of sleepy as she walked back to her room, yawning into one of her sweater paws, checking her phone once more for the night, going through the notifications from the past few hours.

She was already burrowed halfway under her blankets when she saw the message that made her freeze. It was on her Twitter account.

 **@ThomasJefferson sent:** are you still up

 **@ThomasJefferson sent:** im so sorry about this

 **@ThomasJefferson sent:** but my car won't start

 **@ThomasJefferson sent** : im still out in your parking lot

 **@ThomasJefferson sent:** think the weather broke something in the engine

 **@ThomasJefferson sent** : im so sorry to ask this

 **@ThomasJefferson sent:** but if you're awake, would u be willing to let me back in??

 **@ThomasJefferson sent:** just real quick i swear

 **@ThomasJefferson sent:** please it's less than freezing out here

 **@ThomasJefferson sent:** im so sorry about this y/n

 **@ThomasJefferson sent:** really i dont mean to take advantage of your hospitality

**@ThomasJefferson is typing...**

Her eyes widened; her eyebrows shot up. She was already in bed, she was dying to finally just get some sleep, but she couldn't just leave him out in the cold knowing she was the only one around to help him out. She sighed.

 **@Y/N_L/N sent:** jesus thomas stop rambling

 **@ThomasJefferson sent:** im so sorry

 **@Y/N_L/N sent:** relax, ill come down to let you in now

She huffed as she pulled herself out of bed, bringing one blanket with her to the stairs, mildly bleary-eyed.

Once again, her phone pinged.

 **@ThomasJefferson sent:** can't thank you enough

 **@ThomasJefferson** sent: ill come to your door

Sure enough, when she made it down, shifted the blinds to peer through, ensure that it was actually Thomas and that she wasn't about to get abducted in her booty shorts and men's XL college sweatshirt, she saw him standing there, shivering, and her eyes widened.

She rushed to unlock the front door, and Thomas didn't waste a second coming in after she did.

"Jesus, sweetheart, I can't thank you enough." He let out a deep breath, seemingly reveling in the warmth of the room. She closed the door quickly behind him, though the wind certainly put up a fight. "'M so sorry about this. Really, if I could fix it now, I would, but I think somethin' in the motor froze while I was parked out there for a couple hours. I--"

"It's ok, Thomas," Y/N said softly, doing her best not to sound as though she was half asleep, and she pulled her blanket tighter around herself. "Really. I'd rather you not freeze to death; it'd put a bit of a damper on my career."

He grinned. "So self-centered."

She scowled. "Go back outside."

He laughed as he unbuttoned his coat, tucked his gloves in his pocket and withdrew his phone. "Did I wake you up?" He eyed her choice of attire dubiously, looking amused, and she shifted her blanket to cover her shorts.

"Nah, I was just on my phone in bed. You're fine."

"...Right." She ignored his disbelieving tone.

"How long were you out there for before you messaged me?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. He sighed.

"'Bout half an hour. 'M sorry, I couldn't take the cold any longer."

"Don't apologize, geez," she huffed. "You think I'd have rathered you stayed in your icebox of a car and said nothing?"

"I'm gonna guess by your tone that it's a no, but I gotta say, I wasn't so sure."

"Oh, shut up!" Y/N scowled, and he grinned. "Can I call someone for you? A tow truck? A mechanic?" She asked, rubbing the side of her nose, eyebrows raised, and Thomas shook his head.

"Nah, don't worry 'bout it." He seemed engrossed in whatever he was typing into his phone, staring down at it intently and hardly sparing her a glance as he furrowed his brow. "I'm gonna call myself an Uber. I'll be outta your hair in five minutes, and I'll come by to get my car in the morning. That ok?"

She nodded, hardly even processing his words. "Yeah. Yeah, fine."

She stifled another yawn as he grew increasingly frustrated with his app. Several moments passed; she saw him repeatedly pressing the same button with no increasing degree of success. It took him longer than it should've to admit defeat, letting out a sigh.

"Everything ok?"

He shook his head. "Uber isn't runnin' in this storm. Can I take you up on that tow truck?"

"Yeah, d'you want the number?"

"Please." His expression plainly revealed his increasing desperation as she pulled up the contact in her phone, rattled off the digits to him.

She spaced out gradually after taking a seat on one of the stools by the counter, absentmindedly watching him make the call. His relief was written clearly in his eyes when someone answered, and she listened to him go back and forth with the person on the other end of the line at such an ungodly hour. Whoever it was didn't seem to have any more patience than Thomas. It wasn't until he was cut off midsentence that his face finally fell.

"Yeah, yeah, I understand," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You have a good night, now."

"Bad news?" Y/N raised an eyebrow when he finally hung up the call. He looked to her with pursed lips.

"The roads are closed through downtown 'cause of a severe weather warnin'." Her eyebrows shot up, and he let out a defeated sigh. "I'm so sorry; 'm sure I have someone in the area who I can call and just walk over to. Gimme a few more minutes."

While he searched frantically through his phone, brow knit in worry, she could see the panic beginning to show through. She pursed her lips. His solution seemed flawed at best and downright suicidal at worst; the weather was brutal. "Thomas," she began, swallowing her qualms, but she didn't get a chance to go on, not in the midst of his rising anxiety

"You know of any hotels close to here, sweetheart? Even just--"

"There aren't any, Thomas," she sighed, running a hand through her hair. She knew she had to offer him residence for the night, by then, but her exhaustion colored her reluctance.

"How far d'you suppose the nearest is?" He raised an eyebrow, glancing up. "'Cause I can walk to some--"

" _Thomas._ " She looked at him tiredly. "I live upstairs."

He blinked, hesitant to draw the only clear conclusion from what she was saying, too afraid of the idea that he could've been being presumptuous. "...Okay?"

Her gaze was flat. "Just come crash at my apartment for the night. I have the space; I can't let you try to walk seven miles in the storm to some dingy B&B."

He bit his lip; he appeared anxious to accept her offer. "Listen, I don't wanna impose, sweetheart; I can--"

"You aren't imposing. Calm down." He raised an eyebrow; tentativeness still lay in his gaze, but he seemed to be realizing the futility of his situation. "I'm offering, alright?"

He paused. "You don't have to take me in just cause--"

" _Thomas."_ She huffed, cutting him off for what she hoped was the final time. "Stop worrying about it. Seriously. If it'd really make you _that_ uncomfortable, I guess I could bring a pillow down here for you to sleep on the floor, if that was what you _really_ wanted, but otherwise, just come upstairs."

He raised his eyebrows, and his voice was quiet when he spoke. "You sure?"

She chuckled. "I'm sure. Now, stop making such a big deal of it. C'mon."

She nodded toward the staircase before going back to lock the front door to the diner, and she hit the lights again as he followed her up. "Thank you so much, Y/N, really, I--"

"What'd I _just_ say about making a big deal out of it, hm?" She glanced back at him as they reached the top of the spiral staircase up to her apartment, and she unlocked the door. He gave a soft smile.

"Still, sweetheart. Thank you."

"It's not a problem," she chuckled. He came alongside her through the entrance, and she shut her front door behind him as he glanced around the flat curiously.

"What should I do with my coat?"

"Just put it on one of the hooks by the mirror. Leave your shoes wherever; it doesn't really matter." She flipped the kitchen light on as she walked in. "So, the couch is a pull-out; if you're still up when I go to sleep, the bedding and mattress pad are in the closet at the back of the hall. The bathroom is also back there, first door on your left, and you're welcome to help yourself to anything from the kitchen."

He raised an eyebrow as he shrugged off his coat, kicked off his shoes. "You got any more of those brownies up here?" he asked innocently.

Y/N paused where she stood, sending him a warning look. "That better be a joke."

"Of course, sugar." He'd begun wandering through her sitting room while she poured herself a drink. "Seriously, though, were you goin' to sleep when I messaged you? Don't wanna keep you up any later than I already have."

She shrugged. Despite her exhaustion, despite how she knew it'd have been impossible for him not to catch onto her fatigue, going to sleep didn't seem like the best of her options -- first, she felt guilty to try and leave him alone there when he was all hopped up on caffeine, but second, and far more importantly, she didn't want to leave him with all her personal possessions out for him to poke through. (He'd probably go poking around, too, and she wouldn't blame him in the slightest; it wasn't like she hadn't dug through his belongings before.)

She finally answered, "Nah, not just yet. Was gonna pour myself a glass of wine, though; you want any while I'm at it?"

He hummed, considering it as she reached up for the bottle where she'd stashed it. "Wouldn't mind one."

So with that, she withdrew two glasses, pouring her cheap Cabernet Sauvignon out for the pair of them. With a sigh, she discarded her blanket on the side of the rug next to the couch, unable to carry both glasses along with it.

When she rejoined him, he stood before her bookshelf, arms crossed, leaning forward ever-so-slightly to get a better look at the titles.

"See anything you like?"

Her voice made him turn, matching her smile as he accepted the glass of wine. "I just might." His playful wink as he looked her over made her laugh. "Thanks for this, by the way."

She shrugged as he nodded to the drink she'd poured, lifting her own glass to her lips. "It's no Sassicaia, but it does the trick."

He took a sip, the corners of his lips quirking up. "Could be worse."

Though her gaze drifted to the bookshelf before him, she laughed lightly. "What high praise," she commented dryly.

"Isn't it?" Thomas grinned, glancing down at her, and she rolled her eyes. Her reaction didn't seem to deter him, though. "'M kiddin'," he reassured her, as though she'd taken any sort of offense at the statement. "Really, hope you know how grateful I am for all this."

His tone was light as he gestured to the room around them. While he seemed unfazed, Y/N couldn't help but feel absurd, as though the whole situation still could've been some strange, lucid dream.

"Ah, yes, I'm such a guardian angel," she agreed, tone dry with sarcasm. "I've provided an old mattress and an eight-dollar bottle of wine. You really struck it lucky."

He gave a cheeky grin. "The company more than makes up for it."

She scoffed, shaking her head, but she didn't suppress her growing smile. "You really owe me big, then."

"I'll find a way to pay you back."

She took another sip of her wine, and for once, the warmth blossoming in her chest wasn't just fast-acting heartburn from having cheaped out on dollar-store alcohol. She watched him another moment, waited to speak until he finally met her gaze. "Anything on my bookshelf holding your interest?"

His shrug revealed next to nothing. "No surprises here."

"Oh, because you know my taste in literature so well?" Her skepticism made him smile. Really, any resistance she provided didn't come from him being incorrect, but instead from how uneasy his discerning gaze made her; he spoke as though he could see right through her, as though he'd long since figured out what makes he tick. She couldn't help but feel exposed.

"You're easier to read than you think, sweetheart." She didn't answer, but instead raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to go on. "Keats, Austen, Plath..." He quirked a brow. "... seven different copies of _The Princess Bride_."

"Hey, it's a classic!" she defended, and he laughed.

"'Course it is." He took a sip of his drink, eyes shining. "It's interestin', though."

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "Rest of this apartment is almost completely bare, but this bookshelf is almost overflowin'."

She cocked her head. "Care to enlighten me on what makes that so interesting?"

"'S just predictable." He shrugged, his gaze turning to Y/N with a small smile. "Says somethin' about your priorities, huh? Nothin' you need straightened out."

His wink made her grin. "And who gave you the right to come into my home and judge my lifestyle?"

"Hey, I'm just validatin' you," he defended. "Besides, last I checked, you gave me that right by invitin' me up here."

Y/N huffed at how pleased he looked with himself, going to take a seat on her couch behind him. He raised an eyebrow as she did, and when his gaze followed her, he found himself turning, leaning against the bookshelf as she addressed him. "Don't make me regret it when you've hardly been up here for ten minutes."

"Aw, but I'm touched by how much you care, savin' me from the storm."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "I didn't want you to freeze to death, try not to let it go to your head."

"But sweetheart, you saved my life; how could I not be forever in your debt?" At that point, he was playing up his gratitude, having plastered on a full pout, wearing a wistful expression, and Y/N hoped in vain that her amusement didn't show on her face.

"Don't be so dramatic; I just saved my career." She hid her smile behind the rim of her glass.

"C'mon, do I really mean that little to you?"

"You really want me to answer that?"

He laughed, coming back around to join her on the couch. "I'm gonna let that one go, just cause I know you don't mean it."

"...Right." The couch cushions dipped beside her as he sat, and she shifted, turned to him, pulling a leg up beside her onto her seat. He raised a dubious eyebrow before taking another sip of wine.

"You really expect me to believe that?" While his voice was light, the question itself wasn't in jest. The fact that she chose to ignore her adamant attraction to him didn't make it any less obvious, apparently -- it was forever bubbling just below the surface, hanging tense in the air between them. She sighed.

"Alright, I guess you caught me. It's true, my motives aren't purely selfish. I confess." She looked him in the eye with faux solemnity. "I'm also trying to save James and Dolley from having to plan a funeral."

He only shook his head, amused. She was deflecting again, and not subtly, either. Thomas was trying to tread lightly, but she wasn't making it easy on him. "Ever the humanitarian."

"I do try." His gaze was growing empty as she held his eyes. He looked as though his mind was elsewhere. When she drank more of her wine, eyeing him, he hadn't moved a muscle, his expression was blank. "Thomas?"

He blinked hard when she waved her hand in front of him, forcing a wide smile. "Sorry, sweetheart, just spaced out a minute."

"What are you thinking about?" The question was innocent, but it made him tense. He shrugged, pausing a moment.

"Just wonderin' where you got that century-old book of Bryon poems hidden." Though she raised an eyebrow, she tried not to let her skepticism pervade her expression. He raised an eyebrow. "You clearly don't have it packed into that same old bookshelf. Lose it already?"

"Not quite yet." She elected to ignore how he was deflecting in turn. "It's at my beside. I was doing some light reading last night."

"Enjoyin' it?"

"So much." Her excitement was genuine, then, when he raised a brow; her eyes were shining. "D'you know it's been annotated by like, seven different people? It's so interesting, seeing different interpretations from the past hundred years."

His lips quirked. "And what'd you think of my notes?"

"Some of those were yours?"

He nodded. "Everything in purple."

"You have pretty handwriting." When he grinned outright, her gaze drifted to his mouth a moment. She caught herself before he could react. "Anyway, I thought you said no one had read that in almost fifteen years."

"'S cause no one had. Those annotations were all the way back in college."

She raised her eyebrows. "Now, I definitely didn't expect you to be a fan of Byron."

"Oh yeah?" He crossed one of his legs over the other, shifting to face her, and draped an arm over the back of the couch. He looked curiously at her. "Why's that?"

"Definitely didn't take _you_ for a romantic."

"Hey, now." His offense was entirely a facade, and his smile despite it didn't help his case. "I'm hurt. I've _always_ been a romantic."

She snorted out a disbelieving laugh. "I'm sure you have."

"I'm not kiddin'!" he defended, but her clear skepticism amused him regardless. "'M a sentimental person."

"Could've fooled me."

"And why's that?"

"I dunno." She shrugged, taking another sip of her drink as she glanced at him. While his tone was lighthearted, his gaze was inquisitive, searching -- he didn't respond, letting the silence stretch on, and she felt as though she owed him an answer. "You're just so... laid-back and carefree. You're all confident, and brash, and have a flair for the dramatics. I guess I wouldn't have pegged you as a softie."

"I like to think I'm pretty empathetic." His voice was soft. "I've devoted my life to public service, to makin' people's better. You've gotta be compassionate to put the time and money into runnin' for president, right?"

"Or you have to be power-hungry," she contended, and though her tone was light, he creased his forehead.

"'S that really what you think of me?"

With how he was looking at her, bordering on hurt, Y/N could feel guilt building at the back of her throat. She'd come into her current job with so many preconceptions about him that she couldn't have known whether were true, but she hadn't hesitated in entertaining the ideas regardless. "Not anymore." She was sure she looked as embarrassed as she felt. "But I may have made some unfair assumptions, once upon a time."

He chuckled. "Don't sweat it; it goes both ways."

"Excuse me?" She sat up straighter, raising an eyebrow, and he only seemed amused as he regarded her.

"Oh, you're actin' all offended, now?"

"I _am_ offended."

"You shouldn't be." She squinted suspiciously at him as he continued. "Never thought you were a bad person, or anythin', just didn't expect all this from you." With his words, he gestured to the room around him, and she was slow to reply.

"What d'you mean?"

"Lettin' me stay so late in your diner, takin' me in with the storm out there..." He trailed off, shrugging. "You're bein' more generous than you're givin' yourself credit for."

"To be fair, you would've been able to get home without a problem if I'd just kicked you out earlier."

"But you didn't." How perceptive he'd suddenly become had her shifting in her seat. "Feel like I owe you for it."

She smiled bashfully, sipping her wine. With how he was looking at her, heat had begun to rise in her cheeks. "Really, Thomas, it's not a big deal. It's the least I can do."

"It means a lot, though. Really. Didn't have to do any of this for me." His gaze roamed her apartment thoughtlessly, and he wore a small smile. Her eyes were fixed firmly on him all the while, drinking in his expression, the smallest details of his face, from the little patch below his ear he'd missed while shaving, to the stray curl that always seemed to fall across his forehead. "Thank you, Y/N."

What happened next caught them both off guard, despite how slow, gradual, even how nervous it was.

The action was unexpected, but not sudden, and for once, Y/N didn't think about it. She just acted. He'd turned back to her in surprise when her fingertips grazed his stubble, no longer caught up in his head eyeing the room around them, and before he said anything, she was leaning in, kissing him.

The action wasn't rushed, and at first, it was chaste -- he was breathless, kissing her back without thinking twice, and his hand rose to cup her cheek, following her movements.

It took him a minute to pull away, and when he did, Y/N backed off immediately, wide-eyed. "Sweetheart--"

Her stomach dropped. Rejection hadn't been an outcome she'd considered, not after how he'd been coming onto her time and time again, not after the other night, with how frankly he'd asked her what she was looking for from him. "Shit, Thomas, 'm sorry." Her apology was breathless. "I... I didn't mean to make you--"

But he didn't let her go on, his hand moving from her cheek to the nape of her neck, stopping her from retreating to the opposite side of the couch as she lay her glass of wine on the coffee table. "Is this what you want?"

His question made her freeze. He wasn't shooting her down; his eyes searched hers, and she swallowed roughly. "Yes," she breathed. Another beat passed. She bit her lip, waiting for him to react, waiting to see what he'd say or do, but he didn't move.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice quiet but firm. "'Cause if you're gonna run out, rebuke me again, I can't--"

"I'm sure." She didn't waste another moment in pulling him back down to her, pushing herself across the couch, closer to him, and as her lips again met his, he discarded his glass, instead tugging her onto him by the waist.

She pulled him close that time, abandoning her hesitance. He didn't want to stop her, either -- not when her arms snaked up around his neck, not when she swung one of her legs over his, straddling his lap, not when she knit a hand into the curls at the base of his neck, and his self-control was fleeting as he bit down on her bottom lip, making her moan. But despite how she was kissing him, despite the sheer desire in her actions, his concern hadn't subsided.

When he held her face just inches from his own, thumb tracing patterns into the top of her hip, her stare was saturated with surprise. "Y/N, really," he started, worried. She raised her eyebrows. "I've gotta know--"

"I've thought this through," she cut him off firmly, rolling her hips teasingly down against his, and the action made him groan. "I want this. I want _you_. I'm not going to regret this; I'm not going to run off. If you want me to stop, tell me, tell me _now_ , please, but I swear, Thomas. I know what I want." She'd withdrawn a hand from where it hung at his upper back, instead running it down to the top of his chest, her fingernails ghosting over his shoulder, across his collarbone. "Do you?"

There was a skip as he paused, but when he found no reservations in her gaze, only reckless abandon and want, his mind was made up.

"Beyond a doubt." His words were hardly a whisper, lost quickly in both of their rising thoughts, in the growing cacophony of their gratification as her lips returned to his without hesitation, lost in the rising sighs and low moans as she pressed up against him, and finally, finally, they both stopped thinking and overthinking, doubting and hesitating.

The rest of the world seemed to fall away as Y/N tugged on the tie Thomas still wore, as he pulled her closer by her waistband. She was breathing heavily when his lips found her neck, shivering when his teeth scraped over the sensitive skin, when his fingertips dug into her hips. It was easy for her to lose herself in him, after weeks of waiting and wanting and wishing, and easier still when she pulled on his soft curls, making him groan against her skin, when his grip on her tightened as she ground her hips down against his.

She could feel him shudder underneath her when his hips jerked, when he pulled her down against him, when she let out a soft whine. By that point, his tie was sloppily loosened, hanging crooked around his neck, and Y/N had managed to undo the first few buttons of his shirt despite how preoccupied she'd quickly become.

She had no caution left to cling to. She'd shaken him off time and time again; she'd rebuffed his unshakeable audacity, but it took her until he backed off to realize what it was she was really looking for.

Something about it all scared her, made her heart race and her head spin, but as his hands traveled further south, her pulse spiked, and she couldn't bring herself to mind it. He asked where her bedroom was; her answer was just a murmur between hot, fervent kisses as he returned to her mouth.

She knew she wouldn't regret this all come morning. She wouldn't regret it two days later, nor two weeks later, the risk of it all only compounding upon the excitement. With his skin against hers, with him picking her up by the thighs, making her yelp as she wrapped her arms and legs around him, she was struggling to remember that there was any big picture to it. There would always be her job. There would always be the election. There would always be their nosy mutual friends and a bloodthirsty political landscape. But just then, in her low-budget apartment with her secondhand furniture, as the blizzard raged on within six inches of her warm, comfortable living room, as all of Washington D.C. was buried under a cloak of snow, as frozen in space as it felt in time, the two of them were all there was.


	7. Liaison by the Light of Day

**BY THE TIME** Y/N woke up, the sun was hardly up, the streets were plowed, and the bed was warm. She didn’t try to leave it, instead curling further into Thomas’s warm embrace when he pulled her close. Huddled alongside him, his skin against hers, she didn’t bother to fight the fatigue that still ebbed at her mind, instead letting herself drift peacefully in and out of consciousness. She could feel Thomas’s quiet laugh rumble in his chest when she made no move to get up. She didn’t process it enough to react when his lips brushed against the crown of her head.

By the _next_ time she woke up, the sun was high in the sky over Washington D.C., the streets were still plowed, but the bed was cold.

She frowned as she pushed herself to sit up, leaning back on a hand as she rubbed her bleary eyes. _He’d left without saying a word._

She knew as she peeled the covers off herself, still damp in places with sweat from the previous night, that she shouldn’t have expected him to stay.

Why _would_ he have? He was a busy person; it was already… _Shit,_ how had it already reached 2 PM?

She slouched into the bathroom, feeling like a wreck as she wiped the smeared mascara from her face, tied up her wreckage of sleep hair. She couldn’t bring herself to take off his undershirt she’d donned the previous night, too cold to sleep in nothing but too exhausted to find some real clothing. (He’d laughed at her for it, but all the same, he didn’t give much resistance before offering up his shirt.)

Regardless,they’d done nothing more than sleep together. He had no commitment to hang around any longer. If she were him, she probably wouldn’t have stayed either. Still, it would’ve been nice for him to have said goodbye.

She tried to blink the sleep from her vision as she padded to her kitchen on bare feet; she would force herself to eat _something_ before getting dressed and having to go down to another shift at the diner that evening.

Dry cereal might not have been the pinnacle of health for her just then, but it was easy, and she was in no mood to fight her cravings. When she pulled down a bowl, though, a flash of purple in the corner of her vision gave her pause.

She closed the cabinet absentmindedly as she turned, eyeing the post-it note dubiously from a distance, glancing around her apartment to confirm she was alone. (There hadn’t been much question about the matter, but she couldn’t be too careful.)

It was a moment later still when she approached it, stifling a yawn, and plucked it from where it’d been stuck onto the countertop.

_Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep,_   
_And yet a third of life is passed in sleep._

Y/N raised an exasperated eyebrow at the scrawled note despite the smile she fought back. The handwriting wasn’t hard to recognize; not after she’d run her fingers over matching pen marks through a few hundred pages of Byron poetry – not to mention the fact that there had only been two people in her apartment all night, and _she_ certainly didn’t remember writing that.

She shook her head lightly as she went to recycle it, but that time, it was the writing on the back of the paper that made her freeze.

_For the next time you need some ancient literature, or for the next time you lock me out in the cold._

_(202) 863-4828_

Perhaps it wasn’t such a gloomy afternoon after all.

* * *

 **Unknown Number:** [Attachment: 1 image]

 **Unknown Number:** nerd

Thomas grinned down at his phone where it was tucked halfway into his pocket. He’d been in meetings since noon, but after the night he’d had, he was struggling to focus on fundraising numbers and campaign strategy, most of it going in one ear and out the other as he waited restlessly for his phone to buzz. He’d begun to think by then that she wasn’t going to reach out.

 **thomas 🙄:** kinda harsh to say that abt someone who’s been dead for 200 years

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** ah yes because i was definitely referring to byron

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** not the person who carries around purple sticky notes just to paste byron quotes in people’s kitchens

 **thomas 🙄:** you insulting my stationery?

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** just your taste in literary quotes

 **thomas 🙄:** don’t be mad just cause i’m right

 **thomas 🙄** : it didn’t even wake you up when i left in the morning

 **thomas 🙄:** at that rate you were gonna spend a lot more than a third of your life asleep

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** wouldn’t have still been asleep if you hadn’t had me up past 4 am

 **thomas 🙄:** is that really a complaint, now?

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** uh??? yes, it is????? i have to deep clean my sheets and my mattress now smh

 **thomas 🙄:** as though it wasn’t worth it ;)

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** wasn’t worth the cost of the five gallons of bleach i’m gonna need to get the smell out

 **thomas 🙄:** don’t even pretend

 **thomas 🙄:** you didn’t seem to have any problem last night when i started ruining your sheets

 **thomas 🙄:** you really gonna act like you don’t want me to ruin them again?

Y/N could almost hear his voice in the messages, could picture his self-satisfied smile, and she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as she read and re-read the text.

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** you’re paying my laundry bill

 **thomas 🙄:** worth it to me

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** or maybe we’ll just have to ruin your sheets next time

Thomas inhaled sharply; his eyebrows shot up. _Next time._ He wouldn’t have thought that just two words could turn him on quite that much.

“Thomas?” His head snapped up, his eyes wide; he’d somehow managed to forget entirely where he was in the few minutes since Y/N had texted him. Thankfully, it was only James who seemed to have noticed.

“Hmm?” He blinked, staring up at James’s expectant stare. His gaze flickered across the conference room, and while James was clearly on the border of annoyance, everyone else looked to him curiously. “’M sorry, James, I spaced out for a second thinking about… your proposal for the fundraiser?”

That was the last thing he remembered hearing, and James didn’t look impressed. “Right,” he said dryly. “Anyway, I was asking how you felt about doing another town hall in D.C.”

“Yeah, alright.” He nodded, hardly processing the words, and James cocked a brow.

“Really?” He folded his arms. “I’m surprised you’re giving in that easily. Last I remembered, you wanted to move your next few town halls up further north.”

Thomas shrugged. His palms were sweating as all eyes turned to him for an answer after he’d spent the past ten minutes thinking about something _very_ different from his supporters. “You make a good case for it.”

(The fact that he hadn’t caught a minute of the advocacy was irrelevant.)

James hadn’t bought a word of it, and Thomas could tell from a single glance at him. He made a mental note not to pick someone who could see right through him as a running mate next time.

However, he fabricated a smile, much to Thomas’s relief, having no desire to confront him right there or then. “I’m glad. I had a couple venues scouted out, but I’m open to any more suggestions.”

“ _I_ think we need a new type of place. The same locations again and again get monotonous.” Thomas struggled to resist rolling his eyes; he had to remind himself he’d only hired Charles Lee because he was donating more than twice his salary to the campaign.

“So what do _you_ suggest?” He met his eyes skeptically from the other end of the table.

“What about a café?”

“A café?” Another of his campaign staffers who he couldn’t identify by name spoke up – Noah? Nate? _Nathaniel_? Thomas couldn’t help but agree with his incredulity.

“It would be good for you to actually get to _know_ your voters instead of… preaching to them from on high.” As Lee continued, his voice close to a sneer, Thomas had to force himself to control his expression. “It would be much more personal for you to finally sit down and meet them.”

“I’m runnin’ a campaign, not speed-datin’ the voters.” Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas saw James purse his lips to repress a laugh.

“It’s actually an excellent idea.” _Really, now?_ He glanced disbelievingly at the woman to his left. “The most common criticism you receive is about thinking yourself above your voting base. It’d be a good chance to lose some of your aristocratic reputation.”

 _Hurtful, but not inaccurate._ Thomas nodded, though he knew the skepticism was still clear in his gaze.

“If we _do_ go through with this, where in the city do you propose we hold it?” James didn’t seem to appreciate his fundraising proposal being derailed into a meet-and-greet, and by Charles Lee of all people. Thomas was right there with him, his annoyance only compounding when Lee shrugged unhelpfully.

“It’s the Jefferson campaign, not the Lee campaign.” Charles _did_ make a good point with that. Thomas only wished he’d have thought of it before he decided to wedge his opinion into James’s plan like a Republican jigsaw puzzle.

The question gave him pause, however. Were he to be perfectly honest, he didn’t know more than five restaurants in the city by name, four of which wouldn’t exactly earn him any points as a ‘man of the people.’ The last, however…

It was probably a poor idea; he’d known that even before he considered it. But it did seem to fit what they were looking for. It was in a low-income neighborhood, run by a family of immigrants. It had a bright atmosphere and an abundance of seating. However, the most tempting part to him wasn’t how it’d look to the voters, but being able to see one person’s expression when she learned he’d rented the place out for an entire evening.

It might’ve been a poor idea, but he _had_ to put his campaign first, and the benefits were more than defensible.

He grinned. “Think I got a place in mind.”

* * *

 **Y/N SPENT THE** next few days overthinking the fact that Thomas had left her last text on read. _God,_ why’d she have to go and put the idea of a 'next time’ out there? She was sure he didn’t want commitment any more than she did, so she must have scared him off.

She hated how tumultuous the past Friday night had left her emotions.

Thankfully, when she arrived at work the following Monday, it didn’t take too long for the distractions to come pouring in.

“Y/N!” Her head snapped upwards, her eyes wide as she saw Ashley marching into her office. She wore a smile, but her eyes were narrowed, and Y/N couldn’t help the sense of dread building in her stomach.

“Ashley.” Her response was wary.

“So your article got a decent bit of attention last Thursday.” The words were nice enough, but they were altogether devoid of energy.

“… Thanks?”

“No, that’s definitely a good thing; take the compliment.” As Ashley circled around to take a seat on the edge of Y/N’s desk, however, she tensed in her office chair, trying not to noticeably grip the armrests. “But a lot of it was _controversial_ attention.”

“How?” she asked, taken aback. Her brow was furrowed; it was likely the most unbiased article she’d written about the election.

“A lot of our readers seem to think you’re siding with the Jefferson campaign toward the end of it.” So _this_ was why Ashley had entered looking so skeptical, and Y/N was sure her disbelief was written plainly across her face.

“Seriously? Because I mentioned that they’re turning away funding from super PACs, you mean?” Ashley nodded, and Y/N let out a huff of incredulous laughter.

“You don’t need to hold back on your critiques, alright? You can go after _whatever_ information you uncover.” She either didn’t notice the annoyance growing in Y/N’s eyes, or she didn’t seem to care. “Don’t be afraid to use what you uncover.”

“And if what I uncover is entirely unrelated to the election?”

“ _Nothing_ is unrelated to the election, Y/N. That’s exactly what you don’t get.” Something akin to excitement flashed in Ashley’s gaze as she leaned forward toward Y/N, but the hint of vindictiveness gave her pause. “For you, the people are readers, not voters. You’re not the one in an election.”

Though she shifted further away in her rolling chair, Y/N said, “I’ll keep it in mind, but for the time being, it’s all been pretty mundane. Haven’t found any skeletons in his closet.”

_“Then make some.”_

A beat passed; Y/N could only stare up at her boss in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

She rolled her eyes when Y/N didn’t seem to be on the same page, which only elicited more worry. “You, as a writer, have grown to national visibility. You have the power to sensationalize things if you want to keep people hanging onto your every word.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, thanks.” Ashley narrowed her eyes further at the bite behind Y/N’s words.

“I’m serious. If you want to go further as a reporter, you can’t just state facts. You need a narrative. There’s a reason no one watches C-SPAN.”

“Pretty sure I can spin a narrative on the election without stooping to the level of a gossip column.” With Y/N’s hard stare, Ashley seemed to realize she wasn’t getting any further with the conversation, and after eyeing Y/N for another moment, she sighed heavily.

“You’d better show me a good narrative.” Y/N had begun to tune her out as she pushed herself off of her desk, instead turning back to the article she’d been drafting. “I trust your judgment as a writer, so I’ll let you take this however you want it. But people want to know who they’re reading about.”

“I have a feeling everyone knows who Thomas Jefferson is by now,” Y/N responded dryly.

“I mean _know him_ , know him.” That elicited a raised eyebrow. “He’s a person, not just a candidate. _That’s_ what America wants to see.”

Y/N couldn’t help the strange sense of pride that curled in her chest, tried instead to suppress it alongside the inexplicably conceited mantra Ashley’s words elicited: _she knew Thomas Jefferson in a way America never would._

When Ashley raised her eyebrows, Y/N realized she’d let the silence stretch on a moment too long. She swallowed her thoughts. “So you want me to air his dirty laundry?”

Y/N’s eyes widened at the grin that broke through Ashley’s unimpressed demeanor.

“ _Finally_ , she gets it.” With that, Ashley turned to go, ignoring how dumbfounded she’d left Y/N. She glanced back with a well-pleased smile.

“If you need dirt, never be afraid to dig up whatever it is he’s left buried.”

* * *

 **UNFORTUNATELY FOR Y/N** , the distraction that was her boss’s scarily cutthroat mentality only weaved itself into her racing thoughts about her most recent encounter with everyone’s favorite Republican frontrunner. The next few evenings at the diner were slow, which she couldn’t necessarily complain about – being rushed and nagged by half of downtown D.C. over the course of a week wasn’t quite her paradise. However, it only gave her time to spiral under the weight of everything she’d learned.

To her conflicted relief, coming in earlier in the afternoon on Wednesday provided a welcome diversion. It would’ve been her afternoon to herself after leaving her office at the Post, but when one of their baristas called in sick, the money for an extra two hours was too tempting for Y/N to turn down.

Despite her early shift, it wasn’t until around 7:30 that her evening hit a bump in the road.

“Prosciutto roll for Belle?” she called out as she reached the end of the counter, putting the tray with the finished order and the receipt on the end of the counter. She pulled a paper cup out of the stack by the divider for the drink that was ordered. She was about to dash back to the kitchen after checking over the food, when–

“Excuse me.”

She was _sick_ of overly-familiar voices interrupting her workday. She froze on the balls of her feet where she’d begun to retreat, before turning with forced positivity permeating her demeanor. Couldn’t her two jobs stay separate, at least _most_ of the time?

“James! Hey. Congrats on the Super Tuesday win.” His surprised smile put her at ease as she reached where he stood.

“Oh… Y/N. Thank you,” he said, tone hesitant, his eyebrows shooting toward his hairline. “I didn’t know you worked here.” She only shrugged.

“I just started two weeks ago. Not surprised you haven’t noticed me around.”

“No, I don’t mean…” She raised an eyebrow when he trailed off, before he chucked to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is my first time coming here. You being an employee just… explains a few things, is all.”

“Glad to provide some clarity… ?” With any context, his insinuation would’ve been painfully obvious; however, completely ignorant of the previous Saturday’s meeting, Y/N was absolutely oblivious. She pursed her lips.

“You have my gratitude for it.” James’s knowing smile explained nothing for her, however.

“Right.” She glanced at the growing line over at the cash register, anxious to keep the flow of customers going smoothly as the place filled up. “Anyway, what can I do for you? If you’re here for dinner, line starts that way.”

She nodded to the other end of the counter, but he shook his head.

“I’m not looking for food, actually.”

Y/N cocked an eyebrow. “I hate to have to be the one to tell you this, but I’m starting to think you’re in the wrong place.”

“No, no…” He plucked a takeout menu from the stand toward the end of the counter and nodded, eyeing the diner’s logo. “I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

“You’re sure?” Her skepticism was still blatant.

“I’m sure.” He glanced up from the menu with a smile. “May I speak to your manager, just briefly?”

That was when she paled. Eyeing his nonchalant expression, she prayed none of her assumptions about his motives could possibly be true, especially as they grew stranger and stranger. Her new spiraling was beginning to tie back to her previous spiraling – could James have found out about the past Friday? Would Thomas have _possibly_ told him? Why would that mean he showed up at her family’s diner to talk to her manager about it? Could he have been trying to–

“Why do you look so nervous?” Her alarm only seemed to amuse James, and she huffed, leaning against the counter.

“James. You’re a politician who showed up at my place of work, rejected food, and requested to speak to my manager.” She looked up at him with a flat gaze, and he only chuckled, shrugging in acquiescence. “There isn’t some new health code no one told us about, is there?”

“Not this time. Check back in a week, though.” She rolled her eyes. “In all seriousness, may I speak to whoever’s in charge? I assure you I’m not here to shut down your café.”

Y/N allowed herself a small smile. “How generous of you. Give me a second.”

He nodded as she turned away, laughing when she took only three steps before aggressively yelling _“Orlando!”_ in the direction of the kitchen.

The man in question emerged with his brow furrowed, wiping his hands on a dishtowel with his brows furrowed. “What’s wrong, mija?”

“Nothing yet.” She glanced between him and James, her stare inquisitive. “Someone wants to speak to you about the diner real quick.”

“You get us into trouble again?” Orlando raised a playful eyebrow, and Y/N couldn’t help her wry smile as she rolled her eyes, batting at his arm.

“No, Orlando,” she huffed.

Her contrived annoyance hardly buried her amusement before James decided to pipe up. “'Again’?”

She turned to James with a playful glare, and he grinned. “You stay outta this.” She pointed a reprimanding finger at him, but he didn’t appear at all fazed. “Gonna get me fired before you have a chance to shut us down, at this rate.”

“You got us shut down?” Orlando gasped, but when Y/N saw the mirth behind his playful shock, she groaned.

“ _No_ , Orlando.” James’s and Orlando’s grins mirrored one another as she looked between them, exhaustion settling into her tone. “I need you two to take each other off my hands, now. I have drinks to make.”

“Of course, Y/N.” James wasn’t too hurt by the final glare she sent him before turning away.

As she fell back into her rhythm fulfilling orders, Y/N couldn’t help but keep an eye on the two men, especially not when Orlando emerged from behind the counter to talk to James, trying to stay out of her way but also moving just out of her earshot. She knew the glances she kept sneaking toward them weren’t as subtle as they should’ve been; she knew Orlando could see her watching them. As James continued on, Orlando’s entire demeanor went from skeptical to welcoming, his body language opening up in turn. (Y/N tried briefly to read their lips, but something gave her the feeling that 'sent out the minors’ wasn’t quite true to their conversation.)

She had to force herself to turn her focus back to the customers as the unfinished drink orders began to pile up, her eyes widening when she caught sight of the mounting line of cups to her right with names and orders, but with a distinct lack of coffee. A few more minutes passed as she struggled to keep up, finally holding pace with the ever-growing demand when Orlando shook James’s hand, passed off a business card before the two parted ways.

At the risk of making _just_ a few customers lose their heads, Y/N followed Orlando into the kitchen, her curiosity overriding her work ethic.

“Hey, what was that about?” She caught him just as he was tying his apron back on. How pleased he looked had her skeptical.

“Oh, nothing very big. Don’t worry.” He withdrew his plastic gloves from the front pocket, pulling them on with a shrug. “He asked me about renting out the diner for a night for an event with Thomas Jefferson’s campaign.”

That stopped Y/N cold. “He did?”

“Mhm.” He nodded, and he didn’t seem to notice how stunned Y/N had suddenly begun to look. “I told him yes. I didn’t think Mira would be thrilled if I turned it down. He offered us a lot of money for it.”

“Oh, _did_ he now?” She let out a shaky exhale, glancing back at the front of the diner to see James just exiting through the glass doors. “And did he say why he wanted to do it here, of all places?”

Orlando shrugged. “I didn’t ask.”

 _Why wouldn’t that be your first question?_ Despite her moderate angst, Y/N tried not to let her frustration show. “Is Mira around? I need to talk to her.”

“Aren’t you in the middle of a shift?” He gave her a pointed look, and it elicited a dramatic, drawn-out groan from Y/N.

“Orlando,” she whined, folding her arms. He gave her a mocking pout.

“Y/N.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re losing us valuable customers and valuable time as the line gets longer. Go back to making drinks.”

Despite her scowl, she nodded. “After I close tonight, you’re gonna get a piece of my mind.”

* * *

 **AS IT TURNED** out, it wasn’t Orlando who was given a piece of her mind that evening.

**2 New Messages, 10:38 PM**

Thomas raised an eyebrow as his phone vibrated. He sat at his own dining room table, the sound coming from just inches to the left of where he was working on his laptop. _Who would be contacting him that late?_

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** tell me it wasn’t you who came up with the idea of renting out mira and orlando’s diner on the only night when i work all evening

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** please for your sake blame james

He grinned. The draft reports of the campaign’s funding allocation he’d been typing up could wait just a few minutes.

 **thomas 🙄:** i feel like you’re just tryna get me to lie so you can slander me in the papers for it

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** thomas i stg

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** are you just planning your campaign around what’s gonna annoy me most????

 **thomas 🙄:** that’s a heavy accusation, i would never

 **thomas 🙄:** just wanna make sure you don’t get too lonely without me

Y/N’s scowl held no real anger as she read the texts.

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** oh of course

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** if this is your way of trying to get laid again, it’s a flawed strategy

 **thomas 🙄:** what happened to ruining my sheets “next time”? :)

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** you still owe me for all the bleach i had to buy

 **thomas 🙄:** don’t avoid the question

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** don’t avoid the cleaning bill

 **thomas 🙄:** if you’re still tryna ruin MY sheets next time, it won’t be your problem

**Y/N 🍑👀 is typing…**

Thomas rolled his eyes when the typing bubble disappeared and he didn’t receive another text. Y/N, on the other hand, was biting her lip, her fingers hesitant on her keyboard as she read his text to herself. Her heart rate was picking up as flashes of the past Friday played in her mind.

 **thomas 🙄:** did you really just stop typing on me??

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** can we return to my actual question???? why the fuck did you decide to rent out the diner for your campaign?????

 **thomas 🙄:** wasn’t my idea to hold a meet and greet at a restaurant

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** there are literally hundreds of restaurants in dc tho

 **thomas 🙄:** and??

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** and you just happened to rent out the diner i work at during the entirety of my shift???

 **thomas 🙄:** pretty sure i mentioned a while back that i was gonna learn your schedule

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** i’m not sure how good it’s gonna look for your campaign when i file a restraining order against you

 **thomas 🙄:** you mean you don’t miss me? :(

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** oh c'mon you’re just asking for it now

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** you almost make it too easy to mock you

 **thomas 🙄:** i’m so hurt

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** already?? i haven’t even started mocking you yet

 **thomas 🙄:** we’ll see who’s mocking who when you’re stuck with my campaign for five hours this friday

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** five hours??????

 **thomas 🙄:** don’t get too excited now

 **Y/N 🍑👀:** fuck you

 **thomas 🙄:** only after you get around to changing your sheets

✔ **Read, 11:03 PM**

——

 **TRY AS SHE** might, Y/N failed to find a way out of her evening shift the following Saturday. She pleaded with her co-workers (no one else was available); she faked sick (Jac marched up to her apartment just to call her out); she was about ready to find a fake ID and leave the country when a better idea occurred to her.

_Mailto: john.adams@exec.gov_

_Hi Mr. Adams–_

(No, too informal.)

_Vice President Adams:_

(…. Passable.)

_I hope this email finds you well. This is Y/N L/N of the Washington Post, to whom you gave your email address a number of weeks ago at President Washington’s gala._

(She prayed she was using 'whom’ correctly.)

_As you know, I’ve been assigned to cover the Jefferson campaign up until this November’s election, and I’m reaching out for any timely information you would be willing to share on the current relationship between Secretary Jefferson and yourself, as the projected Democratic nominee. I was hoping to find out–_

(What _was_ she hoping to find out? Her mind was still attached to Ashley’s most recent ominous wisdom – _don’t be afraid to dig up what he’s left buried._ But how could she ask the vice president for dirt without erring on the wrong side of collusion?

Backspace just a _little_.)

_I was hoping to give my readers a somewhat more personal perspective on Jefferson’s time holding office as Secretary of State. Is there any chance you’d be available for an interview? Please let me know; I look forward to hearing from you._

_Regards,_

(Was regards too stiff? Backspace.)

_Best regards,_

_Y/N L/N_

She’d been hesitant to actually use the email address he’d given her; she bit her lip as she pressed send. She might not have been able to find a way out of five hours of the diner being full of nothing but Jefferson supporters, but if Ashley was looking for dirt, eavesdropping and an opposing perspective could go far for her. Despite her writing prospects, she spent the entirety of her Saturday dreading its end.

James was the first to show up. The diner was cleared of its usual patrons, but that night, it’d be operating at capacity.

“So should I assume your presence means this whole 'meet-and-greet’ wasn’t an elaborate hoax just to deepen my frown lines?” Y/N was looking up at him with somber resignation as he entered the diner wearing a wide smile.

“Your input and documentation are valuable to this campaign, Y/N. We would never target you like that.” She rolled her eyes as she pushed herself off the counter, despite how amused James appeared. “In other words, you have a long evening ahead of you.”

“Y'know, I’m firmly convinced you’re just trying to make my life Hell until I stop covering the election,” she accused him, and he laughed.

“Have a little faith. I wasn’t even made aware that you work here.”

“Yeah, _you_ weren’t.”

“What are you implying, exactly?”

“Take a shot in the dark.” She glared at him, but it had no real anger in it. “Now, I’m not sure _why_ Thomas is so fixated on antagonizing me, but you’d better tell him–”

“James, hey, you ready to get set up?” It was at that moment the front door of the diner flew open, and it was only a moment of silence that passed before Thomas looked up from whatever he was so absorbed in on his phone, and when he caught sight of Y/N’s exasperated expression, a grin split his face. “Y/N? You workin’ here, now?”

“Don’t even _start._ ”

“Aw, c'mon, what d'you possibly mean by that?” His hands were stuffed in his pockets; he wore a shit-eating grin, and Y/N just scowled.

“I have too many hours left in my shift to deal with you two this early.” She pointed an accusing finger between the two of them as she threw down her dishrag. “I’m getting Mira and Orlando.”

“Some hospitality,” Thomas pouted as Y/N began to turn, pausing to give him the stink eye, and he failed to mask his entertainment under his feigned offense.

From there, the evening went about as well as she could’ve hoped. Mira, as expected, was beyond overjoyed to see Thomas, didn’t waste even a moment in helping him set up, and when the floodgates opened at 4:30 PM sharp, Y/N’s feet were sore even thinking about scurrying back and forth for five hours on the tile floor she’d already spent her morning polishing. (So much for that polish, anyway. It was less than five minutes before layer after layer of bootprints wracked the shining ceramic with an avante-garde collage of brackish slush and sidewalk gunk.)

Demands were ringing in her ears. She struggled to distinguish between her rather lifelike migraine and the surrounding frenzy of voters and journalists alike – the voices all sounded the same. A disembodied shout requested an extra tub of honey butter, and she tossed one onto the end of the counter without thinking twice. Two dozen hamburgers over the next thirty minutes seemed a small price to pay to no longer be working the cash register.

She’d begun to count how many viruses could fit on the surface of each dollar she collected in tips with a strained smile, retreating back to the kitchen to wash her hands every time she stuck one into the pocket of her apron. Considering the crowd, she considered herself lucky she was making tips at all.

The money was an undeniable result of the wandering eyes of a number of middle-aged men in the crowd, being to various degrees of seedy – her skinny jeans seemed to be a hit. Though he wasn’t one among the crowd stuffing wadded bills into her hand with a sleazy grin every time she came around to bus tables, there was one man whose wandering gaze she kept meeting. (He’d rather have provided a much different type of gratuity, and she suspected that went beyond subsidizing her trip to the laundromat to wash her bedsheets.)

She had to put it out of her mind every time she caught and subsequently broke his stare. The wolfish smile he watched her with had her feeling more vulnerable than she’d have liked; every time she noticed it, she couldn’t help but pale and duck away like a mouse dodging a trap (no matter how tempting the bait might’ve been). Not to mention it was distracting her from her job. She shook the thought from where it weighed down on her shoulders, instead scurrying back to the register to deal with the line.

“Alright, what can I get you?” The words were breathless as she rushed to the counter, having just made seven lattes in the span of approximately five minutes and ferried forty kilograms of dirty dishes back to the kitchen – she wasn’t looking forward to washing them at the end of the night. Her tired eyes snapped open when she realized who stood before her. “Lafayette! How long have you been here?”

“Standing in line, or in ze restaurant?” His smile was just on the right side of jeering, and she rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t take that long to get here; I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Of course not, chérie.” He eyed the menu posted above her as he spoke. “I arrived 'ere nearly two hours ago, but I 'ave only just now come to get food.”

“Been avoiding me?” she teased.

“Can you blame me?” Her scowl was all but involuntary at how self-satisfied he looked, choosing to avoid her annoyed gaze. “Any recommendations from ze menu?”

“Whatever’s most expensive.” He raised a skeptical eyebrow, and she shrugged, holding her hands up defensively. “What? Like you can’t afford the New England stuffed lobster?”

He pursed his lips as he looked back down at her, but his eyes were all smug amusement. “Fine. I will 'ave zat and ze agave lemonade.”

“My paycheck appreciates it,” she said. “That all?”

“Zat will be all for me.” The devious smile he wore as he leaned in a fraction of an inch had her on edge. “But with 'ow he 'as been ogling you all night, I daresay Thomas may want something more.”

“Lafayette!” she scolded him, stepping back from the counter to glare. “Why has that become the first thing you bring up every time you see me, now? I am at _work_.”

Her seething was in a hushed tone, and he only shrugged, leafing through his wallet with a smug smile. “Remind him of zat, not me.”

* * *

 **IT WAS NEARING** eight o'clock, and Y/N refused to remind herself that she still had more than an hour and a half to go. She’d deigned to wash the dishes by that point, actively avoiding the crowds in the dining room between Thomas’s wolfish gaze and Lafayette’s knowing smile – she wasn’t sure when her family diner had become a lion’s den.

The yellow latex gloves she’d been forced to sport were an occupational hazard, she supposed, as she reached up to return her latest stack of side plates to their rightful place in the cabinet above her. When she turned back to the sink–

“Thomas!” She jumped back, holding the edge of the counter behind her. She hadn’t heard him come in.

He raised an entertained eyebrow as she pulled off her thick rubber gloves, throwing them down onto the counter with a thud before reaching over to turn off the water. “What are you doing back here?” she huffed, “You can’t be here.”

He shrugged, and she could feel her heart rate rising along with the blood to her cheeks. Him cornering her, alone in the kitchen at her part-time job after all the texts they’d exchanged over the past week, had her feeling increasingly vulnerable.

He plastered on a mock pout, folding his arms as he leaned against the side of the counter. “Oh, nice to see you, too, Y/N. I’m great, thanks so much for askin’.”

Y/N scowled. “Don’t pretend I’m the one out of line, here.”

“You aren’t happy to see me?” His brow creased as he held a hand to his heart, and though she rolled her eyes, the corners of her lips twitched upward. “You’re hurtin’ my feelings. Figured it’d be a welcome surprise.”

“Oh, of course, based on how thrilled I was to hear you rented the place out for the night?”

He grinned. “Exactly.”

She huffed at his audacity, shaking her head.

“Anyway, what d'you want?” she asked as she moved to go back to where she’d been at the sink, shooing him away. However, entirely undeterred, he took a step toward her, and she took one back, nearing the corner of the room. Her eyes were wide.

“Thomas,” she said hesitantly, and he took another nonchalant step toward her, slowly backing her against the kitchen wall. Her voice was shaky, her heart pounding in her ears like a warning bell. “What are you doing?”

“Well, sweetheart,” he began matter-of-factly, his gaze hawklike. Her breathing stopped for a moment as he closed in on her, one hand landing on the wall beside her head and the other on her waist. His grin broadened. “I seem to remember being promised a 'next time.’”

At that, she couldn’t help but let out a surprised laugh, the sound breathy. “Seriously? And you think now is a good time to cash that in? I’m working.”

“So am I.” He shrugged. “Makes it more fun, doesn’t it?”

“No, it absolutely does not!” Her reprimanding was losing its bite, though; his smile was apparently more contagious than anything she was going to pick up from touching the used cutlery of his unsavory voters. He leaned in toward her with a mischievous eyebrow raised. “ _Thomas_.”

“Y/N,” he echoed mockingly before he dipped down, lips finding the side of her cheekbone, trailing down toward her jaw.

“There’s a window in here,” she reminded him, despite tilting her head to give him access to her neck. “We’re in plain sight.”

“Not from this corner.” She could feel his grin against the side of her face. “Really think I didn’t think this through, sugar?”

She let out a skeptical hum when his mouth reached her collarbone, running her hands up his chest, arching up against him despite herself. “This is a bad ide– Ah!” She squeaked when he nipped at her skin, and his grip on her hip tightened.

“Whatever you say,” he murmured into her neck.

“We’re going to get caught.” She let out a soft gasp as his hand on her hip traveled south.

“By who? Mira?” He pulled back to look her in the eye, a playful shine to his gaze. “She gonna fire you for stealing the attention of her favorite customer?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, pursing her lips to push back the grin that threatened to break hef stony facade. “No, she’s gonna fire me for whatever health code violation this constitutes.” She shoved him lightly by the shoulder, but it only prompted him to anchor her to him by the waist.

“I won’t tell.” The hand that rested against the wall threaded itself into her hair, tipping her head back to look her in the eye. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for any sort of reaction in the affirmative. She bit her lip.

“My kitchen shift ends in less than half an hour.” His expression visibly deflated, and she gave a small, sly smile. “So you’d better be quick.”

Delighted surprised flashed in his eyes; she squealed when he hitched one of her legs up to his waist, tightening her hold on his shoulders. “Well, I can’t turn down a challenge, now, can I?”

With that, he reached over and flicked the sink’s faucet back on, the water drumming loudly on the underside of a saucepan. She furrowed her brow. “What are you doing?”

“Drownin’ you out.”

His lips returned to her neck with increased fervor, and he tugged aside the collar of her shirt, biting softly into her skin. “Fuck you,” she moaned, and he laughed.

“Right here, in plain sight?”

She was about to rebuke him, eyes narrowed and mouth ajar, before he began sucking a hickey into the skin of her shoulder, and he felt her whole body relax in his grasp as she let out a groan. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I do my best.” Her eyes began to flutter shut as she lost sight of her initial task, the small tsunami of dishes becoming hardly a wave in the distance. His hands trailed further downward, and she could feel her chest heaving as she dug her nails into the thick material of his suit. She bit down on her lip, trying to remain quiet, desperate not to draw any attention, when the door opposite them flew open.

Y/N squealed, shoving Thomas away from her, but the damage was done when she met the intruder’s eye.

“Lafayette?” she asked breathlessly, “What are you doing back here?”

“So it is only a problem when _I_ come into ze kitchen?” He gave Thomas a pointed look, who glanced to Y/N guiltily. She yanked her shirt back over the reddening mark halfway across her shoulder with a huff. “I was only coming to ask where ze bathroom was, but I fear ze two of you may need it more zan I do.”

“Out. Both of you.” Y/N glared at Lafayette, who looked spectacularly amused by the scene he’d walked in on. Thomas, however, looked nearly as put-out as Y/N. She walked over to pull her rubber gloves back on, turned the water off in the sink. “I need to get back to work.”

“It seems you should do ze same,” Lafayette commented to Thomas, who straightened his tie, scowling.

“Thanks for the reminder.” He brushed past Lafayette on his way to the door before he turned to leave, casting Y/N one more burning gaze that left her palms sweating.

Y/N turned back to the sink and grabbed the next dish from the stack, expecting Lafayette to follow Thomas out, but he only raised his eyebrows, joining her near the sink as she picked up a sponge and returned to scrubbing a spot of yellowish crud from the edge of a plate, grimacing when she realized it was crusted over.

“So,” he started, and she looked up at him warily, not abandoning her task. “I take it my hunch as to where you disappeared to at ze fundraiser last week was not misguided?”

She closed her eyes to take a deep breath, pausing for a moment, thoroughly displeased with the hubristic smile he wore. She didn’t give him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes. “What d'you want, Lafayette?”

She glanced in his direction as he pulled his lips into a dramatic pout. “Is my company not good enough for you to 'ave here? You hurt me, chérie.”

“Right. No agenda there,” she said dryly, and he shrugged, unable to contain his self-satisfaction.

“So, 'ow long have you and Thomas been carrying on in secret?”

After the momentary pause the bluntness of his question gave her, she rolled her eyes. He came around to the drying rack on her other side, apparently ignoring her peeved sarcasm. “We aren’t.”

“Non? Then what, exactly, did I just walk in on?”

“Give it your wildest guess.” As she turned to add a plate to the stack, she watched Lafayette hoist himself up onto the counter to her left. He gave her a sly look.

“Why did you not tell me about your little liaison? It is not like it was difficult to figure out.”

“'Liaison’,” she snorted. “Is there anything you don’t know how to make sound pretentious?”

“Do not avoid the matter at hand.”

She could feel her cheeks beginning to heat as she turned the faucet back on, and it wasn’t just the steam coming from the scalding water. “It’s not like that, Lafayette. Seriously.”

“'Ow far 'ave you two gone?”

“ _Lafayette_!” She turned with that to glare at him, his nonchalance about her embarrassment only compounding upon it.

“What? Do you really not want someone to confide in?” She paused at his words, though her scowl didn’t relax, and he took that as an invitation to continue. “I can only assume you 'ave not been 'aving zis conversation with Alexander. I can picture quite clearly how 'e would react.”

She let out a huff of bitter laughter as she returned to the dishes. “Can’t argue with that one. He thinks the hickey I came back from Detroit with was from _you._ ”

“Non!” His eyes shone with mischief, despite his contrived incredulity. “I am your cover story?”

“It’s _his_ theory; I didn’t even give him the idea.” She added another plate to her pile. “Though, a lot of my friends seem to think you’re a whore, now.”

“Mm, and why should I not go and tell them ze reality of ze situation?”

“Don’t you dare!” she said. “What do you stand to gain from that?”

“Protecting my reputation, apparently,” he said mildly. “Or, you could simply tell me what 'as been going on.”

“Are you blackmailing me for gossip?”

“Think of it as an exchange.”

She scoffed, turning her head to look at him. “You really are shameless, huh?” He shrugged, folding his arms as he turned to look at her expectantly, his knee bumping her pile of silverware. She sighed. “Fine. We screwed. You happy?”

“Delighted.” He wore a small smile as he shifted her dishes out of his way. “'Ow many times? Only once? When was zis?”

“Lafayette!”

“What?” he asked innocently, but the exhaustion written across her face made him laugh. “Come on, Y/N; we are friends, non?”

“Seems like I’m stuck with you, so sure.”

“Zen why do you not feel like you can speak freely with me?”

When she met his eyes that time, the words seemed to be in earnest, not even mocking in the slightest. He wore a small smile, and he broke her gaze after a moment, eyeing the layout of the kitchen.

“Alright. If it’ll get you off my back.” She sighed, shooting him a dirty look, and he nodded, pursing his lips to suppress the grin that was bursting at the seams. “It was a week before Friday. Only once. And, to be honest, I have no idea where to go from here.”

“Thomas seems to have some idea where _he_ wants to go.” When she gave him a dead stare, he laughed. “I am not making fun of you, zis time. Truly.”

“This time,” she repeated bitterly. “I’m just… not entirely sure what I want. The whole thing feels risky.”

“It certainly is risky if you are trying to get lucky in public during his campaign event.” He gave her a scandalized look, but her scowl was unwavering.

“Thanks for the advice.”

Her sarcasm left him undeterred. He shrugged. “But if you are careful, what is ze harm? I assure you, even the papers zat care enough to cover Thomas’s sex life do not 'ave the resources to find out who is ending up in his bed.”

She hesitated a moment, considering his words.

“No, you’re probably right.” She sighed. “The thing is… I don’t know. It feels like it could become a problem.”

“Ah, is there… something more you want out of zis?” The sidelong look he gave her was more concerned than she expected it to be. She shook her head, giving a light laugh.

“No, no, nothing like that.” He’d begun moving the dishes to his other side by then to maintain his spot on the counter. Y/N rolled her eyes when she noticed. “My career just complicates things, is all.”

Before he could respond, she took a step back from the counter, peeling off her rubber gloves despite the looming load of dishwashing she’d still have to do before the end of the night. “And as much as I’d love to stay and chat, I need to get back to making sandwiches. Head back out to the dining room.”

She jerked her chin toward the door while retying the strings on the back of her apron. Lafayette frowned.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Not trying to. Kicking you out.” She gave him a flat stare as she turned toward where she stood. “Some of us have bills to pay. C'mon.”

He scowled as he hopped off of the counter and she waved him away, following close behind to herd him out the door. He glanced back over his shoulder at her when she did, though, and his gaze looked once again as smug as it had when he first realized what he’d walked in on. “If you insist, chérie. I understand that you must do away with me before you can carry on with your little affair. Do not let me get in ze way.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at how pleased he looked with himself as he strolled back into the seating area, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. However, when she returned to the kitchen counter, she couldn’t help but scan the room through the front window; who she was looking for went without saying. She found him already looking at her, and she swallowed hard.

Nothing articulable was conveyed in his heavy stare, nor in the barely-there smile he wore, arms folded as he watched her shamelessly. She bit her lip. The three seconds she held his gaze felt like hours, and when he finally winked and broke eye contact to turn to someone who’d just approached his table, she felt her stomach turn. _This wasn’t over._

* * *

 **THOMAS'S RALLY ENDED** at nine, but it wasn’t until closer to nine-thirty that he’d persuaded the final member of his constituency to call it a night. Mira, Orlando, Jac, and all their miscellaneous employees had gone home when their shifts ended at the official end of the event, but Y/N was stuck on the clock for another hour or longer until she finished cleaning up the mess left behind from the evening. Unfortunately, his event running over time meant that he didn’t start clearing out his campaign setup until around five minutes after the diner was empty, and that his posters, decorations, and gaudily-colored buttons weren’t actually gone until closer to nine fifty.

Y/N was clearing the kitchen counters all the while, knowing she couldn’t begin to mop up the grayish mess of liquified dirt and matted grass scattered across the floor until they were both gone. When they seemed to be on the last load of red streamers and campaign merchandise, she emerged back toward the front counter to lock up behind them. Thomas was still out in the back when James approached her, his final box of t-shirts resting on his hip.

“Is there anything else you need from us before we leave? I don’t want to take up too much more of your time.”

Y/N smiled at the concerned look he wore. “Depends; have you paid Mira in full for all our troubles?” Despite her exhaustion, her tone was light, and the tension in James’s brow relaxed.

“I gave her the check before she left.”

“Then you’re good to go.” She shrugged as she went to collect another basin of dirty dishes from under the side of the counter; her annoyance at it couldn’t even rise, not after the mountain of plates she already had waiting for her next to the sink. “I’ve got everything else under control.”

He nodded. “Thank you for letting us rent out the venue. All our attendees seemed more than happy with it.”

“If it was up to me, you wouldn’t be here, but I’ll take the credit if you’re offering it.” She raised a playful eyebrow, and he wore a tired smile.

“The credit’s all yours.”

“My gratitude is beyond words.” Though the words were mocking, he let out a light laugh, and she couldn’t help her wry grin.

“I’m always glad to hear it.” He took another glance around the place, checking for anything that might’ve been left behind, before turning toward the back exit Thomas had just re-emerged from.

“What else do we still have to box up?”

James paused on his way out. “You’re welcome to do a final sweep, but I believe we have everything.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m fairly certain.” He looked back toward where Y/N stood behind the counter once more, leaning down on the bakery case. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Bye, James.” Her sleepy voice has a singsong lilt to it that made Thomas smile as he searched the dining room a final time. She’d started toward the kitchen once more to retrieve her broom, but Thomas’s voice stopped her.

“Anything else I can do before I head out?”

She turned on her heel to face him, wore a soft smile when she saw how earnest he looked, eyebrows raised and his hands tucked into the pockets of his dress pants. “So long as you’ve gotten everything you brought here, there’s nothing I need from you.”

“You sure?” When she raised a questioning eyebrow, he shrugged casually. “Just hate to leave this place a mess from our campaign event. Don’t wanna leave you with all the extra cleanup.”

She pursed her lips when her smile threatened to broaden. “That’s sweet, Thomas, but really, it’s okay. I’m on the clock for a while longer anyway. I think I can stick it out, considering I’m the one employed here.”

“Feel like I remember hearin’ somewhere that your shift ends at ten.” He furrowed his brow, walking toward the counter where she stood. She didn’t quite get his point until she turned to the clock above the doorway: it was nine fifty-eight. “’S there really nothin’ I can do to help out?”

She snorted, folded her arms. “Not unless mopping the dried coffee off of the floors is your idea of a good time.” When his expectant expression was unwavering, her eyebrows shot up. “You’re not seriously offering your services as a janitor, are you?”

The corners of his lips quirked. “Only if it’s welcome, sweetheart.”

“You’re wearing a full suit.” The disbelief in her eyes was rigid despite his conviction.

“Don’t mind. Long as I can throw my jacket somewhere.” He cracked a grin. “Unless, of course, you just wanna get rid of me.”

She eyed him skeptically, but he didn’t seem to be joking just then. “If you’re serious, I’m not turning down free labor.”

“Or an excuse to spend more time with me?” His tone was playful, and she couldn’t help her spiteful laugh as she re-entered the kitchen.

“So _that’s_ your ulterior motive? Hope you don’t think you’re getting any when it’s eleven o'clock and I’m half asleep from my seven hours here tonight.”

“As, c'mon now, why’s there gotta be an accusation?” he called after her, and she could hear the teasing frown in his voice. “Can’t I just wanna lend a hand?”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” She emerged not a minute later with a broom and dustpan to see him having shaken off his jacket and undone his tie. She quirked a brow.

“Hey, anywhere I can throw these?” His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms as he slid his tie out of his collar, popping open the first few buttons on his dress shirt, and Y/N bit her lip. The suits he wore didn’t quite do justice to his physique; his jackets may have fit tighter around his upper arms, but his shirts were practically molded around his biceps just above where the veins bulging in his forearms disappeared into his sleeves. She was sure the few extra inches of visible skin below his collar were meant to draw her wandering eyes, only hinting at the toned chest she knew lay beneath the starched fabric.

When she looked back up and caught his eye, he looked predictably cocky. He wore a wide, smug grin, and she rolled her eyes before he even spoke. “You’re starin’, sweetheart.”

Y/N shrugged, wearing the smallest of smiles. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Anything you wanna see again?” He raised a suggestive eyebrow, and she laughed.

“Tempting,” she said, and when surprise flashed in his eyes, his interest piqued as he started toward her. However, she stopped him at arm’s length, a hand on his chest. “But you know what would be _really_ sexy?”

His delight in the turn of events was obvious. “What’s that?”

She leaned her broom against the counter and took a step forward, pushing herself onto her toes until her lips brushed against the skin just below his ear, and his hands ghosted down to her hips. Her voice was just above a whisper. “Watching you disinfect _all_ the dining room’s high-touch surfaces.”

She pulled back with a broad grin when he let out a disappointed groan. “Seriously?”

His frustration was obvious, his brow furrowed as he looked down at her, deadpan, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, yeah. Free labor really gets me going.”

“Tease,” he grumbled, and Y/N gave him a skeptical stare.

“Don’t you gimme that; _I’m_ not the one here under false pretenses,” she reminded him, and he folded his arms.

“Now I dunno _what_ you could be refferin’ to.” She raised a dubious eyebrow when a grin split his phony discontent. “But there’s nothin’ wrong with mixin’ business and pleasure.”

“Don’t you dare try to derail me after taking up six hours of my time, Jefferson.” She prodded his chest with a scowl. “If you’re sticking around, I’m putting you to work.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” When he did grab the broom, he glanced back toward the kitchen, wearing an inquisitive frown. “I’m gonna go stick my jacket in a cupboard; is that alright? I’ll only be a minute.”

“Oh, yeah; do you want me to take it? We have a coat closet in the back.”

“Nah, ’s alright. I can find it.”

Though she gave him a skeptical once-over, Y/N nodded. “Have at it.”

When he wasn’t back a few minutes later, her train of thoughts managed to run a full 5k – what could he possibly be spending that much time in the back for? Was he really still trying to find a coat hanger, by then? How hard was it to find a closet in exactly two rooms? Or, really, was he just hiding out until she’d already gotten the worst of the grime off of the tile?

She eliminated her final guess when early-2000s pop music began blaring through the diner’s sound system. Though she groaned loudly enough for him to hear it from where he’d located the aux input, she couldn’t say this was really a downgrade from Orlando’s dusk-till-dawn smooth jazz. When he emerged from behind the kitchen’s swinging door and caught sight of her dead stare, he laughed.

“Hanging up your jacket, huh?” Her annoyance was contrived; the way the corners of her lips twitched up gave her away.

“Hey, I can multitask.” He bit his smile back, giving her a serious look, brow furrowed. “I said I’m here to help, didn’t I?”

“How is this possibly helping?”

“'Cause _you_ need to liven up a little bit,” he said matter-of-factly, and Y/N rolled her eyes. “Cleanin’s only boring if you make it boring.”

“You’ll be singing a different tune when you start wiping down the bathroom.”

“Hey, how’d I end up on bathroom duty?” he pouted, and she shrugged, turning to the shelves at the back to hide her growing smile.

“As the only one of us who actually works here, I’ve elected myself the de-facto CEO.” She hung her dishrag up on the rack next to the sink before looking back at him over her shoulder, shrugging. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re on my turf.”

“But I’m a volunteer!” he protested, and she grinned.

“My point exactly.”

“Now, what if I refuse to do it?” Though she was busy restocking all the cups that she’d finished washing earlier in the day, she could hear Thomas’s footsteps approaching where she stood behind the counter.

“Then you don’t, and you finally _leave_ so that I can be productive.”

“Sounds like _I’m_ really the one with the power, here.”

“Not when I have something I know you want.” She looked up with a suggestive smile when he hoisted himself onto the counter beside her, and he raised his eyebrows, folding his arms across his chest.

“And now what’s that?”

“Three guesses, Thomas.” She had a feeling he’d only need one of them when his gaze began to wander down the length of her body, eyes shining.

“I dunno how unpaid this labor is, sweetheart.”

“Well, you won’t quite be making minimum wage,” she said, turning back to face him as she leaned against the counter opposite where he sat. “But I think the employment benefits will make it worth your time.”

“That so?” He pushed himself off the counter’s edge, hardly having to take a step forward before his arms landed on either side of her on the counter’s edge, caging her in, and she inhaled sharply. His grin was wide; his hips pressed into hers as he leaned in, and she swallowed roughly, leaning back on her hands which rested on the linoleum countertop.

“I’d like to think so,” she breathed, as he dipped down, wasting no time as his lips met the tender skin below her jaw.

“Mm, I think I’m gonna need to decide that one for myself,” he murmured against her neck, and despite how tempting it was when his hands gravitated to her waist, falling slowly further as he bit down softly on her earlobe, she pushed him away the minute she found her last shred of willpower.

“Uh-uh.” Thomas scowled as he pulled back, hands planted on the counter at her sides. She folded her arms. “I’m not gonna make even more of a mess of this place that I’ll have to clean up. When the diner’s shining, I’d be happy to revisit.”

One of his hands rose to her jawline, lifting her chin up ever so slightly to look him in the eye, and she raised a skeptical eyebrow. “After the place is spotless,” he murmured, his voice hard and his gaze fixed on her lips, “Hope you know how much you’re gonna regret leadin’ me on like this. You _won’t_ be tryin’ it again.”

Despite her effort to remain unaffected, Y/N’s breath caught, and she bit down on her bottom lip as she struggled to fight the heat rising in her cheeks. Her eyes were wider than she knew, and he seemed to be reveling in her reaction, wearing a wolfish grin.

After a moment, she swallowed, took a deep breath, her voice shaky. “Last I checked, I’m still at work.”

“And I wouldn’t dream of hinderin’ your career.” Thomas winked as he took a step back, going for the broom where she’d discarded it before, acting as though nothing at all had happened. Y/N was left reeling.

* * *

 **THUS BEGAN THE** next ninety minutes of her life. Though, to Y/N’s surprise, Thomas did end up cleaning the bathrooms, putting up little resistance, he’d also managed to convince Y/N to help him. Despite there having been two of them, every subsequent task took twice as long as it otherwise would’ve. She’d have denied it, but Thomas’s presence was a more-than-welcome distraction.

About half an hour later, he’d managed to drag her away from her Lysol bleach and her old rags in favor of taking a break to dance with him (apparently, she was underappreciating the wonder that was Outkast’s greatest hit). She rolled her eyes at the suggestion but grudgingly obliged, and Thomas couldn’t help but call out the small, growing smile that broke her grumpy facade. He’d seemingly done the impossible by getting her to let herself go for an evening. Neither of them was quite sure how the floor had gradually become spotless between their distracted banter, nor when exactly they’d managed to wipe down every surface in the kitchen as his playlist seamlessly ventured through every one of Britney Spears’s wildest phases.

She’d just about forgotten about her fatigue as Thomas repeatedly soaked the ankles of her jeans with his mop, claiming that her being in his line of sight was just too much of a distraction for him to do his job properly. She scoffed every time, but the fact that her cheeks had grown sore from smiling made her annoyance marginally less convincing.

He eventually took off his shiny black oxfords after having spent the evening trying to hide his concern over some of the chemicals in her soaps ruining the varnish; she didn’t bother to argue with his insistence that it _absolutely_ marked a milestone in their progress that he wasn’t afraid to step in any greenish gunk or black mold – if they hadn’t missed any, what was the harm? However, she did reprimand him for ransacking their fridge when she left for three minutes to put the mop away. She didn’t stay mad long.

Wiping down the glass of the bakery display case took too long for her liking. As it turned out, it was difficult to focus after teasing him for the expected mediocrity of the John Mayer impression he claimed to be impeccable, as he immediately decided it needed to be proven. However, she didn’t regret provoking him when the result had her sides beginning to hurt from laughing. She was just glad that they’d nearly finished cleaning.

Much to his dismay, Thomas had to cut the music after the sweet old lady who lived above the dry-cleaners next door came down, banging on the back door to chew them out. The fire behind her threats to file a noise complaint with the cops died down pretty quickly when Thomas offered her a beignet and a cup of tea, sending her on her way with a winning smile, a to-go box, and a Jefferson campaign button. (Y/N proceeded almost immediately to scold him for just _giving away_ the fruits of her hours of labor behind a deep-fryer.)

But as the music was revoked, their animated evening of slacking off began to wind down. The only thing left for them to do was to finish the dishes, and Thomas proved to be much more helpful with this than Lafayette had been earlier in the day.

All was quiet as he washed the dishes and she proceeded to dry them, silence split only by his sporadically humming the best of the Black Eyed Peas. It was comfortable, just being together as the warm air wafted from the cooling oven not too far behind, as their hands brushed every time he passed her another plate. Her lips were pursed in a feeble effort to hide how endeared she was every time she glanced to him, his sleeves soaked past the elbow while he remained unbothered. If he noticed, he didn’t mention. Finally–

“How are you so good with people?”

“Hm?” He turned his head toward her with a raised eyebrow, and she had to ignore the flecks of foamed soap that clung to his curls and his shirt. Y/N shrugged.

“I just mean…” Her smile was shy; she didn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t get how you do it. Mira absolutely dotes on you; you’ve befriended half of our staff after one night here. You just talked to my crankiest neighbor for _literally_ all of five minutes, and suddenly, she’s part of your voting bloc.”

He just watched her for a moment. His stare was soft. “Can’t help it if people find me irresistible.”

Her loud, disbelieving scoff made him grin, but she looked far from annoyed. “That’s your secret? You were just born with it? It isn’t Maybelline?”

Though he laughed quietly, when she turned to him with her eyebrows raised, he shrugged. Her question seemed to be in earnest. “I dunno, sweetheart. Don’t think it’s anything special. People seem just as drawn to you, anyway.”

“Sure, 'cause I have a nice ass, and I’m wearing tight jeans. Not the same thing.” How frankly she spoke made him grin, and he shot her a wink, passing off another bowl to her.

“Can’t argue with that.” She rolled her eyes as she began drying the next dish. He bumped his elbow lightly against hers, gaze teasing yet soft. “But you know that’s not what I meant.”

She sighed. “Alright, fine, but I’m not forty-points-ahead-in-the-polls charismatic. I just… can’t figure out what it is about you that people seem so drawn to.”

As she concluded moments later, the uninvited smile she wore when he flashed her a warm grin could’ve contributed to the reason. She turned back to the plates before her, feeling her skin warm under his heavy gaze. “So you’re tellin’ me people don’t follow me strictly 'cause of my political framework and field experience?”

“Oh, I’m sure every one of your supporters has invested _hours_ into reading the 174-page pdf of fiscal policy your campaign published.” Another stack of cups went into the cupboard below her.

“People really don’t care about how taxin’ it was for me to write all that? And here I was, thinkin’ every American voter was out there doin’ their homework.” He looked with disappointment down at the salad plate he was scrubbing at present, but Y/N wasn’t buying it.

“Thomas,” she groaned as she turned to meet his phony pout, her stare flat. Her mild annoyance only served to amuse him further, and though she scowled when he laughed, he leaned over to gently kiss the crown of her head. She could feel herself flush despite how chaste it was; the casual affection left her more thrown than if he’d tried to rail her in the middle of the kitchen.

“’M only kiddin’,” he defended, voice heavy with mirth, making her roll her eyes.

“Aren’t you always?” she asked, wiping off the inside of a cup.

“'Course not.” He frowned, and she deadpanned as she turned to him, arms folded.

“I’m not sure we’ve had a serious conversation since I met you.”

“Now, that’s just not true.”

“Isn’t it?” He put down the saucepan he was rinsing out to turn to her, matching her demeanor.

“It isn’t. I know I tease, but I’ve never been anythin’ but one-hundred percent authentic with you, Y/N.”

A moment passed where neither said anything. The corners of Y/N’s lips quirked at how sincere he sounded as he waited for her to react. Finally, she turned back to the dishes before her with a tight-lipped smile.

“Maybe this is what it is.”

“Hm?”

“Why people like you. This whole endearingly earnest act you’ve got going on. I could see that being pretty appealing to voters.”

“Hey, what d'you mean act?” He bumped his shoulders into hers, offense written across his face, and she laughed.

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. Traipsing around from state to state like some type of charismatic golden boy. Making everyone feel all special and appreciated. It’s a good tactic; don’t get me wrong.” She shrugged as she shelved the last stack of bowls. Just a few more things to wash, and they could officially consider the diner spotless. She didn’t think much of her own words, but he hung onto them. It was inexplicable as to why he took so much pride in her all but admitting he made her feel special.

“My bein’ all kind-hearted and charmin’ isn’t some _scheme,_ ” he said after a moment, plastering on a scowl, and she raised an eyebrow as he passed her a fork. For a brief moment, she was worried she’d crossed a line, but when his eyes met hers, his gaze was playful. “’M just a nice person. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Her mouth fell open in surprise, indignant but hardly disguising her smile, and she let out a huff. “I was joking, you asshole!” When he only snickered, she pursed her lips, shoving him away from her with the little comparative strength she had.

“Hey, now!” His reprimanding had very little bite to it with the laugh carried in his voice as he stumbled a step to his right, tugging the faucet head along with him. He scowled at Y/N’s self-pleased smile, flicking his wrist to turn the spray of water from the sink onto her.

She yelped, jumped back from it, but he’d already managed to drench the front of her shirt. She wore an expression of disbelief as she paused a moment, watching him return to the dishes as if nothing had happened despite his entertained grin. It was then that she struck back, lunging toward the sink to retaliate, and he wasn’t quite quick enough to stop her.

He could only do damage control once she’d already managed to spray a line of water across his chest, and she gasped when he pushed her back to her part of the counter.

“You’re more trouble than I was expectin’,” he laughed, and she folded her arms.

“You’re no walk in the park yourself.”

“But you’re the one who decided to let me stick around, sweetheart,” he retorted, giving her a pointed look, and she shrugged good-naturedly.

“You might be a handful, but you’re worth having around once in a while.”

He laughed at how matter-of-factly she spoke, and for once, she wore an unabashed grin. “Now you’re just flatterin’ me,” he teased.

“Oh, of course, such high praise; you aren’t always awful.”

“Hey, that means somethin’, comin’ from you,” he defended, prodding her in the side, and she squealed, jumping away.

“Hands off, Jefferson. I’m at _work_.”

“Aw, ’m sorry. Didn’t mean to disrespect your professional boundaries.”

“Check yourself next time,” Y/N scowled, but there was no heat to it. The pair caught one another’s eyes, both wearing the same, gentle smile, and it seemed too soon when he broke her gaze, returning to the last couple pieces of silverware. She watched him another moment until he turned to pass her a ladle. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed her gaze hadn’t strayed.

She only turned back to the counter when she took the ladle from him, drying it off and sliding it back into its place in the drawer. All was quiet, and though they could both feel the chilled air of the spring night drifting in through the poorly-sealed back door, where they stood, it felt perfectly warm.

He glanced at her. “’S nice to see you like this.”

The comment was offhanded; he didn’t wait for a response, only returned to washing the spoons, but Y/N furrowed her brow.

“Like what?”

He turned back to her with a raised brow, mildly surprised at the curious frown she wore, and he shrugged, still wearing his faint smile. “I dunno.” She didn’t fill the silence, and he continued, “With your guard down. Always feels like you’ve got some kinda walls up.”

She swallowed; for a split second, her gaze was absent. Ultimately, she sighed. “I guess I’m just cautious,” she said quietly, and Thomas frowned at the defensive lilt that had returned to her tone.

“I get it.” He reached over to finally turn off the water, and she put away the final fork he handed her. “’S not always worth lettin’ people in.”

His smile was tiny, barely there, but understanding, and when she met his eyes, it felt like he was seeing right through her. “It just makes it too easy to get hurt.”

He nodded, eyes kind. “’M glad I make you feel like you can relax.”

She hardly shrugged as he turned to her, leaning on his hand on the countertop. “Yeah.” A small smile graced her lips as she eyed his expression, and she bit her lip. “I guess there are worse things, huh?”

His laugh made her nervous gaze soften. “Aw, sugar, you’re too kind,” he said, the mocking sarcasm in his voice balanced out by how gentle his grin was. She rolled her eyes.

“Whatever,” she said softly, and he plastered on a mock pout. “I’m not building up your ego any more, alright? I’m not sure it has any room to grow.”

“I wouldn’t mind you makin’ me just a little bit more conceited, now.”

She finally turned all the way to him, putting down the dishcloth she’d been using for drying, and despite herself, the affection in the way he was looking back down at her made her heart flutter. “If you’re looking for blind adoration, you should’ve figured out by now that I’m not the girl for that.”

“No, you really aren’t, are you?” Though her words had been pointed, had come with the intention to knock him back down a peg, his low voice was far, far from contemptuous. Her eyebrows jumped when he took a step toward her, taking her chin in his hand to lift her face to his before bending down to meet her where she stood, his confident lips gentle against hers. “You’re so much more than that,” he murmured, not pulling away enough to even look her in the eye, their noses brushing together.

Though she hesitated, it was a moment later that Y/N took a step forward to meet him halfway, her tentative touch rising up the stiff material of his shirt and to the back of his neck. He wrapped an arm around her waist. She pushed herself up onto her toes, and their lips met once again.

The patience in his every move was new to her, inconsistent with the raw desire that usually governed his actions. When he sucked her bottom lip between his teeth, her mouth parted in a soft moan, and he took the opportunity for what it was, wasting little time in pressing his tongue teasingly against hers. He was holding her close, but she was arched fully up against him regardless of it, wanting to feel the movement of his body against hers. Both her arms looped around the back of his neck, pulling him down to her.

The kiss was deep, intimate, but not harsh, and when his mouth moved to the skin of her neck, she tipped her head back, eyes closed with her silent sigh as his hands moved down to grip the backs of her thighs. She couldn’t help her surprise at how effortless it was for him to pick her up, to lift her onto the counter she’d been standing in front of. She groaned when his lips found a particularly sensitive patch of skin, all but going limp in his grasp.

“Thomas,” she whined, wrapping her legs more tightly around him to anchor his hips against hers, grinding against his hard body.

“Come home with me,” he muttered into her neck, and though she gasped at the feeling of his teeth scraping against her, she pulled back to look him in the eye, raising his head to hers with a hand in his curls.

“What?” she whispered, chest heaving, and he pressed another soft, chaste kiss to her lips.

“Come home with me,” he repeated, looking into her wide eyes.

“Why?” He raised his eyebrows at her hesitance, and she took a deep breath. “Thomas, I live upstairs; if you wanna stay, I… I definitely wouldn’t mind that, but–”

She cut herself off at his skeptical hum, and he said, “Listen, I almost got caught tryin’ to sneak outta here in the morning last Saturday, and I’m not tryna have a repeat of that, alright? Just come back to my place.” One of his hands lifted from her thigh to weave itself into her hair, holding her head by her nape as he kissed her, more intently that time. “Promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

She swallowed. “Pull your car around the back.”

* * *

 **IT WAS HOURS** later that Y/N found herself lying exhausted on satin sheets, slumped in a penthouse just across the river and high above the city. Thomas hadn’t been lying about making the most of her time; his hands had seldom left her skin from the moment she entered his passenger seat, dragging her quickly past the doorman on the first floor of his building, pinning her against the wall of the elevator for a heated, fleeting moment before he’d finally tugged her the rest of the way to his apartment.

She was wrapped in his covers up to her chest, feeling just on the wrong end of self-conscious, but her clothes were rumpled and sprawled across every corner of the rooms they had to pass to reach his bed. They hadn’t been overly concerned with where the outfit ended up, just that it wasn’t on her skin. Every joint in her body was already sore, and she groaned as she tried to sit up, leaning against his headboard as Thomas returned to her with a glass of water.

“Thanks,” she said, and he couldn’t help but grin at how hoarse she sounded as he handed her the cup.

“'Course, sweetheart.” He came to sit beside her as he pressed a kiss to her temple, and she took a long sip of the water, nearly draining all of it in one gulp. “You alright? Everything still feeling okay?”

“I’m exhausted, and my ass hurts like a bitch,” she griped, but when he raised an eyebrow, she nodded. “But I’m all good. Might have to bill you for the truckload of concealer I’ll need to cover up all these fucking marks, but I’m fine.”

“Good.” He squeezed her thigh lightly when she leaned against his side, her legs bent and knees pulled in toward her chest. When she rested her head on his shoulder, he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her against himself with a small smile.

“Can’t believe I didn’t know you live in the same building as Lafayette, though,” she mumbled, and he looked down at her with an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, he actually lives just across the hall. When he came back from France lookin’ for a place to live, I thought it’d be fun if we were neighbors, and he took me up on it pretty easily.”

She hummed her acknowledgment. “So that means, when Lafayette showed up half an hour late to your lunch date and I was there instead, that it would’ve taken you all of five seconds just to go home?”

He laughed. “Now, what exactly are you accusin’ me of?”

“Being a pain in my ass two weeks ago,” she grumbled, and he shrugged, wearing a small, self-contented smile and not bothering to argue with her.

“You didn’t seem to mind me bein’ a pain in your ass last night.” He raised a smug eyebrow, and she scowled, turning her head to break the eye contact. She disregarded the heat she could feel rising in her cheeks.

“You say 'last night’ as though we didn’t get back here less than four hours ago.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t get the picture.”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips quirked when he kissed the top of her hair. She looked down at the cup she held against her chest. “Is it cool if I stay over?”

“'Course. I don’t want you gettin’ in an Uber with some creep in the middle of the city at this time of night.”

“Mm, but you had no problem with me getting in a Bentley with some creep in the middle of the city four hours ago?”

Despite the teasing bite to her words, he grinned. “Hey, now, I’m just sayin’ you gotta be selective about which creeps you’re lettin’ drive you around at all hours.”

“I mean, you haven’t killed me yet, so I’d call that a point in your favor.” She yawned, reaching over to put the glass he’d given her on his bedside table. “We should get some sleep. It’s late, and I’m sure you have somewhere to be tomorrow.”

“Alright, sweetheart.” She pushed herself forward from the headboard, laying back onto the pillow she’d been leaning on, holding it close to her head as he reached over to turn off the lamplight before joining her under the covers. “G'night.”

“Night, T.”

They fell asleep almost immediately in one another’s arms.

* * *

**_5:17 AM_ **

_From: john.adams@exec.gov_

_Y/N–_

_I’m glad you reached out. Your writing’s excellent as always, but if there’s information you want, you’ve very much come to the right place. I’ve worked with Thomas for years, and though they left me dismayed, I’ve become quite familiar with the not-so-shining moments in his background._

_I’d rather not put anything in writing should someone find this communication. Let’s find a somewhat private place to meet. Be sure to bring a recorder and a notepad. Believe me when I say you’re going to want to hear what I have to say._

_John Adams_


	8. Interlude: The Second Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smut that my lovely tumblr followers commissioned <3 It's pure filth, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place between the last two scenes of Chapter 7.

**THE DOOR OF** his bedroom slammed shut as Thomas shoved her against it, and not a moment passed before his lips again found hers. With how tight his grip was on her waist, she could feel his fingertips digging into her skin where there were sure to be bruises in the morning. She weaved her hands through his hair, and he moaned into her mouth when she began to tug at it.

“Y/N,” he breathed, hardly able to speak as he panted heavily, and she hitched a leg up to his waist. “Sweetheart, I– Mmh–” He couldn’t finish the thought, though, as she pressed her lips ardently back to his, and as she arched up against him, away from the door, pressing her body into his, he seemed to forget for a moment what he’d been interrupted from.

“Y/N.” His voice was firm that time. Her eyes widened as he pulled back, holding her by the thigh and his grip on her chin. Her chest heaved as he just stared at her a moment, his gaze sharp. “You sure this is what you want?”

She only nodded, trying to pull him back against her, but he stopped her, holding her at bay with a hand in her hair. The stern look he wore sent a shiver down her spine and a spike of heat to her core, and she was sure he could feel it when her thighs tightened around him, pressing for some sort of relief up against the leg he’d forced between hers. “Tell me. I wanna hear you say it.”

“Thomas, why else would I be here? I want this,” she groaned, grinding down shamelessly against his thigh. “ _Please._ ”

“Please, what?” She let out a squeak when he yanked on her hair, shifting her attention back to what he was saying rather than how good the muscles in his leg felt pressed up against her clothed cunt. He raised an expectant eyebrow, making her swallow hard. A beat passed, and she struggled to find her voice.

“Please fuck me.” The words were soft, hardly a whisper, and a wicked grin spread across Thomas’s lips.

“What was that, now?” She bit down on her own lip hard enough that it hurt when he pulled her head back, fingers still laced into the roots of her hair, and his other hand tightened around her thigh. She could feel his blunt fingernails digging into the skin. His lips found her neck, brushing across a bare patch of skin above her collarbone; Y/N gasped when he bit down softly before dragging his tongue over the area, murmured, “Speak up, sweetheart. Mumbling’s no way to get what you want.”

“ _Thomas_ ,” she groaned, dropping her head forward onto his shoulder, and she could feel his smile broaden against her neck. Desperation was beginning to leak into her voice; she was all but aching with need as he hummed against her skin before reluctantly pulling back to look her in the eye. He kissed the corner of her mouth.

“You’re lucky I’m feelin’ generous.”

His touch was surprisingly gentle as his hand eased out of its tight grip on her hair, and his fingertips brushed along her jaw; she didn’t meet his gaze until he lifted her chin. Her eyes were wide. “You have a safeword?” he asked quietly, eyebrows raised.

Though she swallowed hard, she nodded. “Red.” He nodded, kissing her again softly, but when he pulled away, she wore a small smile, a playful eyebrow raised. “Am I gonna need it?”

A grin split his features. “Well, that depends.” When he leaned his head down, his nose brushed across her jawline, and she tilted her head back. “How d’you want it?” he breathed against her skin.

“I don’t care,” she said, knitting her fingers into his curls when he began to suck a hickey at the base of her neck, and she gasped when he bit the skin just above her collarbone. “Take me however you want; I just need you.” She pulled herself forward against him, anchoring herself to his body by his shoulders, and he hissed when she pressed her leg against his hardening cock.

“Hope you don’t think that means I’m gonna be gentle,“ he warned, his bruising grip on her thigh tightening as if to prove his point. "I want you so fucking bad. My patience is runnin’ thin.”

“Who said I wanted you to be gentle?” The look she gave him was innocent, but as the corners of her lips curled up into a smile, her intention was anything but. His eyes flashed dangerously.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for, sweetheart,” he cautioned her. His words were slow, and his tone was calculated. “Be careful, now.”

“I think I have some idea.” She grinned outright as she pulled herself toward him, away from the wall, kissing his jaw softly. When she tugged on his hair, she could feel him tense. “You asked me to tell you how I like it, didn’t you?” The words were murmured into his ear; her voice was low, their cheeks brushed against one another, and she could hear his stifled groan.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She gasped when he grabbed her by the throat, pinning her back as he kissed her deeply once more. It was hardly a second later that he was tugging at the hem of her sweatshirt, wasting little time as he hiked it up her body, and she pulled back from him, yanking the hoodie up and over her head. She discarded it without a second thought.

When she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck once more, Thomas picked her up by the thighs, and she clung to him as he walked her back over to her bed. His lips were working their way down her heaving chest, and when they reached the edge of her bed, he pushed her onto her back.

Y/N could feel her heartbeat in her head as she scrambled back toward the headboard, watching Thomas loosen the knot on his tie, throwing it down and undoing another button on his dress shirt. It was only when he turned on her, pushing her down under him as he climbed onto the bed, that she became aware of just how much more exposed she was than he — he still had his pants covering him entirely from the waist down, and while his shirt was coming slowly undone, it still hung from the majority of his torso, clinging to his upper arms. He supported himself on his forearms on either side of her head when he leaned down to kiss her, working his way down toward her exposed tits. While he had her caged in as his mouth roamed down her upper chest, stopping to give her a hickey, she took advantage of the position she was in, untucking his shirt from his pants; her tugging at the line of buttons down the front of the shirt was enough for him to take the hint. He chuckled.

“What, you want me to take this off?” She couldn’t find her breath long enough to answer, instead nodding as she let out a desperate whine, pulling on the garment. “Why should I?” Thomas raised a smug, amused eyebrow as Y/N wore a sulking frown.

“I wanna feel you,” she groaned, her hands finding the warm skin of his shoulders as she ran them under the fabric of his button-down. “Feels unfair that you’re the only one still in a shirt.”

He hummed reluctantly, and her eyes fell shut when shifted himself forward to kiss her softly on the lips, a finger tracing her hairline. She shivered when he murmured in her ear, “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re poutin’.”

“ _Hey_.” Her protest was ignored when Thomas sat back on his heels, undoing the remaining buttons on his shirt and shrugging it off his shoulders. While her hungry gaze followed the motion, it didn’t distract her. “I’m not _pouting._ You’re just being–”

“Do you really think it’s wise to finish that sentence?” He didn’t seem to be in any rush as he leaned back down toward her, and she found herself inching backward, struggling to hold his predatory gaze. When her head finally fell back onto the pillow behind her, Thomas didn’t stop. She swallowed hard when he brushed a hair out of her face, his light touch sending a shiver down her spine. They were almost nose-to-nose. “You’d better not have been talkin’ back to me, babygirl. Keep in mind that I’m the only one who can give you what you want, right now.”

“Then do it.“

He smiled. "Have some patience.”

Her skin burned under his touch as his mouth returned to her tits. One of his hands pinched and twisted at her nipple, and she wound her hands tightly into her bedsheets, desperate to anchor herself as she quivered under his touch. It was when he moved from leaving a deep purple hickey on her breast to closing his lips around her other nipple, sucking hard, that she squealed, a hand flying up to grip his shoulder — neither could tell whether she was trying to pull him closer or shove him off. As his teeth brushed against her sensitive skin, though, she reached for his belt buckle and began pulling the belt from its loops. He only let her get away with it for another moment.

Just as she pulled the tail of the belt back out of the teeth of its buckle, leaving it hanging from his belt loops, he caught both her hands in one of his, pinning them both above her head. She inhaled sharply at his sudden change of pace; her struggling in his tight grip around her wrists was more reflexive than anything else. She wasn’t used to the feeling of helplessness as his weight pinned her down. It didn’t help that her nerves were running on overdrive with how he was treating her.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” he murmured, his face millimeters from her own. The sheer proximity had her beyond flustered, and her breath caught in her throat. “If that’s what you want, you’re gonna have to wait a little longer.”

“But I need you,” she whined, pushing her hips up against his where she could feel his erection prodding against her inner thigh. He froze for a split second, inhaled through his teeth. She pushed out her bottom lip into a pout, looking up at him with wide eyes, and she was convinced his conviction wouldn’t hold out. “ _Please_.”

Apparently, his willpower was stronger than she’d expected; rather than give in and fuck her, he shook his head, kissed her on the forehead. He pulled his belt from where it hung loosely at his hips, shifted his weight back onto his legs so he could pull her hands up toward the headboard.

“Hey!” The reason for his actions wasn’t clear to her until the cool leather of the belt met her wrists, but by then, it was far too late. She tried to yank her arms back toward her, break his grip on them; when that failed, she started trying to wiggle out from under him on the bed to escape his hold, but his body weight alone was enough to keep her in place.

If she’d been on edge before, that was multiplied tenfold when he bound her hands tightly to the headboard. Thomas wore a wide, predatory smile.

“You look so pretty like this.” He combed a hand through her hair, and when she turned her head, unable to meet his gaze as her skin burned, he kissed her cheek softly. “Tied up ‘n helpless. So exposed and vulnerable, just for me.” She swallowed roughly; the words went straight to her core, and her hips twitched, her stomach turned. He reached up to tug lightly on one of her forearms where her hands were tied. “This too tight?” he asked softly.

Though she had her eyes squeezed shut, her entire body tense as blood rushed to her cheeks, she shook her head. Apparently, that wasn’t enough.

“Hey, no gettin’ shy on me, now. C’mon.” The clear concern in his voice eased the tension in her body. He turned her head to face him with a hand under her chin, but as he ran his thumb along her cheek, across her bottom lip, she didn’t open her eyes. “Look at me, babygirl.” She did so reluctantly. “Is the belt too tight around your wrists?”

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice hardly audible. “Doesn’t hurt.”

“Good.” She tipped her head away when he kissed the skin just under her jaw, and he pushed himself back to kneel between her legs. He hooked his fingers under the waistband of her shorts. “You know your safeword, yeah?”

“Red.”

“Don’t be afraid to use it if you need it.”

His touch was soft as he eased her pajama shorts off, but when his fingers brushed against the fabric of her panties, she shivered, bit her lip to contain a whine. After he tossed the shorts off the side of the bed, he returned to run his hands along her sides. She moaned when he squeezed her ass, when he began kissing down her stomach; he bit down lightly above her hip bone, and her cheeks flared, eyes wide as he sucked a hickey into her sensitive skin.

“You cold?” The words were muttered against her skin. Thomas grinned. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” she breathed, but she shuddered when he ran his hands down her thighs. Her face and neck were burning.

Thomas cocked his head to one side, wearing a look of faux concern. “Then what’s got you all agitated, hm?” His teasing tone had her trying to squeeze her thighs together, desperate for any stimulation as he made no move to touch her, but he held them firmly apart; the word ‘please’ was hardly a whisper on her lips. Her eyes fell shut as he just watched her, and she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes.

 _Crack_ — his hand came down hard on her thigh. She yelped; her eyes snapped open, and she jerked in his grasp, pulling at his belt where it had her hands tied to the headboard. He pinned her hips down as she squirmed.

“I asked you a question,” he said, and although his tone was patient, it was firm enough for her not to mistake it for a request. She swallowed hard.

“‘M sorry.” Her words were all but a whimper, and he raised an expectant eyebrow, running his calloused hand over her smarting skin where he’d struck it. She couldn’t have missed the threat in the action when she didn’t answer, but she winced at the feeling. “I’m just…” she trailed off, biting her lip, and when she went on, her voice was small, “…nervous.”

His surprise at that was genuine, his gaze softening. “Hey, relax for me. I’ve got you.” She nodded, found herself holding back a desperate whine when he kissed up the inside of her thigh. “You want me to slow down? This all too much?” He nodded back up to where he had her hands tied, and his brow was furrowed. However, she bit her lip, shook her head.

“I meant it when I said I didn’t want you to be gentle,” she said softly. “I won’t break. I swear.”

“So you like it rough, huh?” He raised a teasing eyebrow, and reluctantly, she nodded. “Alright. As long as you know what you’re gettin’ yourself into, I’ll take real good care of you.”

“Then touch me, Thomas,” she groaned, wiggling her hips. His light laugh was condescending.

“Aw, sweetheart, who do you think’s in charge here?” he asked. “You think you’re callin’ the shots?”

“…No.” Y/N looked down at him apologetically, but her answer was reluctant. “But please, I need you — your fingers, or your mouth, or… something. Anything.”

“Mm, and what makes you think you deserve it?”

“I’ll be good,” she promised. “I swear.”

“Oh, yeah? You gonna behave for me?” She nodded frantically, and he gave a skeptical hum. “Hope you know that if you don’t, you’re only makin’ it worse on yourself, now.”

“I don’t care,” she whined, and she could feel her voice was close to cracking. “Do whatever you want with me. Just, please, touch me, already.”

“Think I like hearin’ you beg.” She inhaled sharply when he pushed her legs back by her calves, bending them at her knees and spreading them wide. “You’re always so composed, so put together. Such a _professional_. I’m used to you bein’ so headstrong, not takin’ shit from anyone, but I haven’t even touched you and you’re already so desperate.” Her legs were hooked over his shoulders, and he traced a finger up the outside of her panties as he held her thighs to her chest. She let out a clipped, breathy moan. “What happened to that strong-willed reporter I met all those weeks back, hm? You been this needy all along? So pliant.”

“Stop teasing,” she pleaded, trying to push her hips forward despite his grip on her legs, but she cried out when he slapped her clothed pussy. Tears of frustration sprung to her eyes.

“Behave,” he warned. “If you think I’m gonna give you anything at all, you need to learn some manners. I’m the one in control, and all you get is whatever I decide you deserve. So I’ll take as long as I damn well please before I fuck you. You got that?” Although she nodded, she didn’t say a word, and when his hand came down against her once more, it was harder. A satisfied smile played at his lips as she gasped and jerked, her skin burning under his hand as she wriggled in his hold. “Then say it.”

Her eyebrows jumped at the command. He watched her expectantly, not saying a word, not making a single move until she spoke, but she struggled to find her voice as heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. Her heart was racing; she was flushed with embarrassment. She swallowed hard.

“You’re in control,” she agreed quietly, and Thomas gave her a mocking smile.

“There we go.” His hand still rested between her legs, and when he pressed down, Y/N groaned, bucking her hips and grinding her throbbing core against his palm. “And?”

“And you decide what happens. You decide what I deserve.”

“That’s right.” It was then that he finally, finally leaned in, wearing a smug smile, and began rubbing her clit through her panties in circles with his thumb. She shivered as his fingertips settled onto her lower stomach. When her hips jerked, he held her down with his other hand; her breathing picked up. “So stay still. You’re gonna take whatever I decide to give you; you got that?”

The thick leather of his belt dug into her wrists as she pulled at it helplessly, but she didn’t have a choice. She nodded.

Her eyes fell shut when his fingers hooked under the waistband of her panties, and after he slid them off her legs, he pushed her legs even further apart. His thumbs were tracing circles on her inner thighs. She knew what a mess she must have become even before he touched her, but she felt so exposed, her body on full display for him.

He didn’t waste any more time before going to sink two fingers into her cunt, but he stopped himself when he felt how wet she was. He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, baby, you’re soaked,” he said softly, his tone mocking, and her frustration only compounded when he slid his fingers up her slit, away from where she needed him most. “Making such a mess, and I’ve barely touched you. You’re desperate for it, huh?”

When she nodded, it was reluctant, and he pressed a soft kiss to her hip. His fingertips circled her clit, but they never went close enough to provide any stimulation, and Thomas seemed to be enjoying the way she squirmed in his grasp, trying so hard to get something more from him.

“Settle down. I’ve got you,” he murmured against her skin. It was then that he finally pushed two fingers into her, and she gasped at the stretch, her back arching off the mattress. He groaned. “ _Fuck_ , you’re tight. Pretty little thing.”

“Please go slow,” she breathed.

“Don’t worry, I’m plannin’ on takin’ my time,” he assured her. “Gonna have to, if I’ve gotta stretch you out enough to be able take my cock. Just relax, lemme take care of you.”

"Fuck,” she groaned when he curled his fingers, making her hips buck, her legs shake.

“Hush, now, sweetheart. Not so loud,” he chastised, but as he shook his head, the disapproving look he wore was contrived. “You wouldn’t want my neighbors to know what we’re up to, now, would you?”

“I don’t care.” Her arms were growing sore from tugging at his belt on the headboard, and she wore a deep-seated pout. “I just– I just want–” She grunted in frustration, struggling to articulate her thoughts.

“What d'you want? Hm?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Tell me, sweetheart.” Her response was a defeated moan when he started fucking her with his fingers, when he pressed his thumb to her clit, and Thomas grinned. “’S that what you were lookin’ for?”

She couldn’t respond, though, and only nodded. All her energy was focused on keeping her breathing as steady as she could, on keeping herself from raising her voice. Her teeth sank painfully into her bottom lip. He only went harder, though, pushing her back down into the mattress, and his fingertips dug into the flesh of her hip. The gasp she drew in was stuttered when he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked hard, but despite her writhing in his grip, he didn’t ease up. When he worked a third finger into her tight pussy, she couldn’t stifle her strained groan.

“ _Fuck_ , I–” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh– Please,” she breathed, but Thomas cocked an eyebrow.

“‘Please’?” he repeated, watching her expectantly.

She wore a hopeful pout as she looked down at him. “I’m close,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even. “I… Please…”

“Use your words, c’mon,” he urged. “Just tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

“I want to cum,” she pleaded. “Make me cum. I… I need…” Her chest was heaving as she tried to finish the thought, but he just raised an eyebrow.

“Already?” His three fingers were stretching her more than she thought they could’ve, intensifying the ache in her core with every thrust, and with the smug grin Thomas wore, she could tell that he knew, that he could feel her clenching around her, struggling to retain control of her actions. She nodded frantically. “Then go on. Cum all over my fingers, babygirl.”

With his words, he pressed his tongue flat against her clit, finally, _finally_ loosening his grip on her hips and letting her grind against it. He curled his fingers against the walls of her cunt.

“Oh, god, Thomas,” she moaned when he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked hard, her hips jerking uncontrollably, but he didn’t let up. Just his fingers were hitting spots inside her that most of her past partners hadn’t even been able to find. “ _Fuck_. Right there. Don’t stop.”

And it seemed he had no intention of doing so. She hit her peak only moments later, coming with a strangled cry, yanking at the bindings around her wrists. Her hands flexed where they were tied to the headboard, desperately looking for purchase, for some way to ground her, but they found none, and she eventually balled her fists, her arms tensing. Thomas gladly helped her ride out her high. He was unrelenting in his assault on her sensitive clit; when his teeth scraped lightly against it, she couldn’t control her hips jerking, but he didn’t seem to mind. His grip on her was stable, firm.

Her thighs had tightened around his head, preventing him from moving, but he wouldn’t have pulled away even if he could. He wouldn’t have pulled away even if she’d wanted him to — a scenario which manifested only moments later.

Her orgasm subsided, and she was left painfully sensitive; with Thomas still flicking his tongue on her clit, the gratifying ache she felt was edging closer and closer to pain. She tried to spread her legs further, release her hold on his head and use her heels to push herself further back on the bed, but her futile escape attempts had little impact on his conviction.

“Wait,” she gasped, “wait, it hurts. ‘S too much.” The smile he wore was merciless, amused as he looked up at her.

“Oh, c'mon, you can take it. You’re just gettin’ wetter and wetter by the second.” She could only whine as he fucked her relentlessly with his long fingers. “We aren’t done prepping you just yet; ‘m gonna need you nice and loose if I’m gonna be able to fit my dick in you, so either use your safeword, or be a good girl for me and fucking _take it_.”

His words made her inhale sharply, her whole body tense as her back arched, and she let out a breathy moan. Thomas cocked his head to the side.

“What, you like bein’ called a _good girl_?” he asked. “Like hearin’ me tell you how good you are for me? How _obedient_?” Her writhing in his grasp was of little consequence; she couldn’t escape his actions despite the throbbing pain in her cunt. She couldn’t answer him. However, with the way she clenched around his fingers, she didn’t have to say it — he knew. “That’s what I thought. Pretty thing.”

“T-Thomas.” When he pressed his thumb down on her clit, rubbing it in small, frantic circles, the feeling drew a broken cry from the back of her throat.

“Shh, just stay still. I know it hurts,” he murmured, and she grimaced when he nipped the skin of her hip, and he ran his tongue over it, sucking a hickey into the skin just above where it stung. When he scissored his fingers inside her, she had to remind herself to continue to breathe. “Didn’t you say you were gonna behave? Hm?”

And she wanted to. She tried not to move, tried to keep her body under control, but she was too sensitive to handle the ache in her pussy as his fingers pushed deep, too sensitive to handle his tongue and teeth attacking her clit. Yet, as she wriggled in his hands and the hold of his belt binding her to the headboard, he held her down with a hand on her lower stomach. Her legs were trembling; her chest was heaving.

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” Thomas said, and Y/N’s eyes widened in panic. “One more, now. I know you can do it.”

“No, I can’t,” she pleaded. “Hurts too much. I– I need–”

“Please, babygirl?” he crooned, “Just one more. Wanna feel you cum. You’re close, aren’t you?”

“No, _no_ , I–” She shook her head frantically, and the horror in her expression looked a little too genuine for his comfort. Concern clouded his gaze. He slowed his hand.

“You remember your safeword?” he whispered. A beat passed, and he was about to pull out, but when she finally caught her breath, found her voice, she nodded.

“I know it. It’s okay.” Her words were hardly audible, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She bit her lip nervously. “Keep going.”

He huffed out a surprised laugh. “…So you _want_ it to hurt, huh? You like havin’ me force you to take it?“ he asked, and a grin spread through his expression, smug and teasing as he returned to fucking her with his fingers, harsher and faster. The dry sob that’d been building in her throat finally became too much to contain. The sound was hoarse.

"You’re more depraved than I thought. Masquerading as such a sweet, polite girl when you really just want someone to fuck you till you can’t think straight, remind you of your place. Isn’t that right?” She couldn’t form the words she needed to answer. She couldn’t form any words at all, really, so she only whimpered in response. “Don’t worry, I know it is. Now, cum,” he said. “I know you’re almost there.”

Her stuttered whining grew frantic when he dug his hand into the flesh of her thigh, hooking it over his shoulder as he went down on her. Only seconds later, with her orgasm building, he forced a fourth finger into her, and the painful sensation pushed her over the edge; she came with a shriek, wriggling against his grip. This one was shorter than the last, but it was more powerful, and when she started whining for him to stop, pushing her heels against his satin bed sheets, he pulled away and shushed her gently.

“Hey, relax, I’ve got you,” he murmured, gently massaging her thighs, and as she caught her breath, he pushed himself up on top of her, holding her face in one of his hands. He brushed away the tears that were tracking mascara down the sides of her cheeks. “You okay? You’re crying.”

“’M fine,” she muttered. Thomas furrowed his brow.

“You sure?” She nodded, and he leaned down to kiss her forehead. When his thumb brushed over her mouth, she reflexively closed her lips around it, sucking on his fingertip. She hardly realized what she’d done until he raised an amused eyebrow. Her eyes widened, and she tried to pull back, but Thomas was already pushing his thumb past her teeth, holding her jaw with his fingers under her chin.

“Really? You wanna suck on my fingers?” he asked, and when she averted her eyes, tried to turn her head, it was to little avail. She could feel her cheeks burning with shame. However, despite her shying away at his question, there was no hiding the way she squirmed, pressed her thighs together as he straddled her hips; his tone was mocking when he said, “That’s adorable. Open up for me, then.”

She did so reluctantly, and he withdrew his thumb, using that hand to grip her jaw. He slipped the fingers that’d been knuckle-deep in her cunt into her mouth, and her cheeks flared at the taste of herself. “Suck 'em off, babygirl,” he ordered her. “You’re the one who got them all messy, so it’s your job to clean 'em, now.”

And she did so obediently, despite how humiliated she felt. He smiled when she hollowed her cheeks around his long fingers, feeling her tongue running over them as she did her best to lick them clean. Moments later, when he was satisfied, he shoved them roughly all the way into her mouth, making her gag when they prodded the back of her throat, but he held her chin in place with his other hand as she struggled.

“Yeah, that’s it. Such a good girl,” he cooed, and her moan was muffled around his hand. The sound made him smile. “You like choking on my fingers? Hm?” She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to meet his taunting gaze, but he wasn’t having any of it. “Ah, ah, ah,” he warned, and although he still held her head in place, he withdrew his fingers from her mouth. They trailed her spit onto her chin. “Look at me. Need you to look me in the eye, c'mon.”

She opened her eyes hesitantly, and he raised an eyebrow.

“You okay to keep going?” he asked. She nodded. “I don’t want all this to get too intense for you; I know I’ve been putting you through a lot, here.” When he stroked her hair, she smiled softly.

“Don’t worry; I’m fine.” She lifted her head so she could kiss him. “Besides, you haven’t come yet. That doesn’t seem fair.”

“No, don’t worry about that,” he dismissed her words, shaking his head. “If you’re overwhelmed, I can finish myself off.”

“I said I was okay,” she reiterated, and when she dragged his knee against his bulge, where his hard cock was straining against the material of his slacks, he groaned, and the arm he was using to hold himself up trembled. She pushed out her bottom lip, gave him a pleading pout. “I still want you to fuck me. Please? I’ll be on my best behavior.”

He eyed her warily. “You sure you’re not too sensitive?”

She shook her head. “I’m sure. I just need you, Thomas.”

Finally, examining her expression, he found no hesitation in her words, and he rolled off of her with a huff, sitting up. As he shook his pants off, he dug through the top drawer of his bedside table. “Shit, okay. Lemme find a condom.”

“I have an IUD,” she offered, and his eyes were wide as he looked down at her. She bit her lip. “And you’re the only person I’ve slept with in months. If you’re clean, I’m clean. So, y'know, if you want…” She trailed off, shrugged when he didn’t reply.

With her words, he didn’t wait a second longer before pulling his boxers off, letting his dick spring free. He was back on top of her in a matter of seconds, settling in between her thighs, hooking one of her legs over his shoulder.

“You’ve been holding out on me, sweetheart.” He nipped harshly at the skin of her neck. “Didn’t think to mention that you were on birth control when we were at your place last week? Hm?”

“I’m sorry,” she moaned, but he didn’t care.

“Damn right, you’re sorry. Gonna fuck you till you can’t remember your own name, now, till you can only think about who’s making you feel so fucking good. You want that? Want me to fucking wreck you?” She nodded, letting out a desperate groan, but when he reached down, instead of fucking her, he guided the head of his cock over her sensitive clit. She whimpered, yanking at his belt where he had it tied around her wrists. “Yeah? Then beg for it.”

“Please, Thomas.” Her voice was quiet, and he arched an eyebrow.

“Louder. I wanna hear you say it. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” she whined, but he shook his head, kissed her cheek.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific. I’ve already made you cum twice; you’ve already had my fingers inside you. Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” she said, and although it was hardly a whisper, she sounded beyond desperate. “C'mon, please?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve been so generous with you, but I’m not gonna give in on this one,” he said matter-of-factly. “So don’t be shy, now. Tell me what you want.”

He watched her expectantly after he spoke, and as she squirmed beneath him, shrinking back into herself, she could feel her cheeks flushing. He knew what she wanted; what she was looking for was obvious. Couldn’t he tell how humiliated she felt as he kept on trying to force the words from her?

But maybe, as she thought moments later, that was exactly the point. Despite the shame burning in her chest, she swallowed hard, looked up at him.

“I need you to fuck me. _Please_ ,” she said softly, and he grinned, sliding the underside of his cock against her pussy. She groaned as it brushed against her clit.

“Keep goin’.”

“I need your cock. Wanna feel you cum inside me,” she said, and when he laughed against the skin of her neck, she bit back a whimper, feeling her blush deepen. “I’ve been patient. I’ve been _so_ good for you, and I need you so badly. _Please_ , just fuck me, already.”

“Yeah, alright. I think that’s good enough,” he muttered against her skin, and at the same time as he licked along her collarbone, he lined himself up at her entrance and thrust into her roughly, all at once. She yelped. “How the hell are you still so damn _tight_?”

“You’re so big,” she groaned, trying to shrink away from his harsh thrusts, although it was to no avail. “It hurts.”

“Relax, I know, baby,” he murmured, mocking sympathy in his voice. “But this is what you need, isn’t it? This was what you asked for, sweetheart.”

Had she not been so spent, Y/N was fairly sure that how hard she was pulling on the belt around the headboard would’ve cracked its wooden frame, but as it was, she was immobile, bound and pinned down by the weight of Thomas’s body. He weaved one of his hands into her hair, pressing soft kisses down her neck, and his hips moved slowly against hers. It didn’t take him long to bottom out, but when he did, he paused, trying to give her time to adjust to the girth of his cock.

It took a minute, but her breathing finally leveled out; her shoulders relaxed, and she pushed her hips up against him, silently asking for more but straining at the stretch of her leg he had over his shoulder, folded against her chest.

“Move,” she said, shivering as she felt his hands running down her bare sides. “Please?”

“Just be patient,” he whispered against her skin. “I’ve got you.”

He obliged her, though, thrusting into her shallowly at first, but with how deep he was hitting inside her, the feeling made her moan.

“Shit, Thomas.” Her breath caught when he pushed carefully into her cunt, but as he pulled back out, holding her by his grip on her waist, his movements were frustratingly slow, and she couldn’t tell whether he was just doing it to tease. “Harder. I need more.” While he looked uncertain, looking her in the eye as he brushed her hair away from his face, her gaze was pleading, and he couldn’t help himself. His hips snapped sharply against hers. “ _Right there._ Fuck.”

Thomas hummed against her shoulder, but the sound was closer to a stifled moan, and she gasped as his teeth latched onto the skin above her collarbone, tugging on it, and when he let up, he left a hickey over the teeth marks.

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmured. “ _God_ , you look good all marked up, taking my cock so well. Such a good girl.”

Her pussy clenched at his words, and as she let out a needy whine, she could feel his smile against her skin.

“Sweetheart, if you keep makin’ sounds like that, you’d better not be expectin’ to be able to walk in the morning.” He kissed her cheek, nosed into her neck when he dipped his head down. The gentle action made her flush; she could feel the skin of her chest heating. “’M not gonna be able to hold back.”

“Then _don’t,_ ” she pleaded, and he raised an eyebrow, lifting his head.

“I’m tryin’ to be gentle, here; you don’t want me to take it slow?”

“It’s _far_ too late for 'gentle.’” She had to strain against the bonds on her wrists to pull herself up to kiss him, but he pushed her back down, lips pressed roughly back against hers. “I just want you to take me,” she said breathlessly when he pulled away.

“You sure?” She nodded. His brow was knit with concern, and he cupped her face in his hand, his thumb brushing over the skin of her cheek. “I don’t wanna hurt you, now.”

“I want you to. Please, just fuck me.” There was no hesitation, no apprehension in her gaze as she watched him hopefully. “I’ll be fine; I trust you.”

Something about seeing how at-ease she was in his arms, her easy confidence in him, made his dick twitch. She was letting go, and she had no reservations about giving him that level of control. He kissed her forehead, smoothed her hair back.

“Alright, but you asked for it.”

His slow, gradual thrusts came to a halt when he had nearly pulled out of her, only the head of his cock left in her pussy, but just when she was about to start begging, he shoved it back in hard, almost carelessly, and she cried out.

“Oh, fuck, _yes._ ” The pace he set was brutal, gradually speeding up as the sound of his skin slapping against hers filled the room. “You’re so _deep_. That feels so good.”

He moaned, tangled a hand in her hair. When he pulled her closer, he knew very well he’d be stopped by the belt still binding her hands to his headboard, and she whined at the ache in her biceps, feeling certain he was still just teasing. However, he just wanted her closer to him, wanted to feel the skin of her chest against his, so he leaned down, meeting her halfway to kiss her deeply. The leg that’d been over his shoulder sank down to his waist as he did so, and she wrapped her legs tightly around him. She tugged his lower lip between her teeth, her smile almost imperceptible.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he moaned breathlessly when she let it go. The short whimpers escaping her only spurred him on, adjusting his angle and pulling her head back by her hair. The untarnished skin of her throat was bared to him. All he could think about was what it would look like covered in bruises. “I’m not gonna last, sweetheart. Want you to cum for me one more time.”

Whatever she groaned in response was incomprehensible. His lips, teeth and tongue were all over her neck, and her words were jumbled together. The thought of covering up all the marks when she went to work on Monday was fleeting.

She was too caught up in him to process anything else. Caught up in how her legs ached as she dug her heels into his lower back, desperate to pull him closer, caught up in the strain in her back where his hand was pressed against it, pulling her up toward him.

She cried out when he leaned further over her, pounding her into the mattress, struggling to keep his pace with how her body jerked under him. One of his hands was at her waist, fingers digging into her flesh, but the hand that’d been in her hair eased out of it, instead closing around her neck. His intention was to hold her down, to be able to fuck her harder, deeper, but her cunt clenched around him the moment his palm covered her throat. He grinned, lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

“What, you like having my hand around your throat?” he whispered. She gasped when his fingertips pressed just hardly into the sides of her neck, and she nodded frantically. “Guess you really meant it when you said you wanted me to hurt you. So damn filthy.”

“Only for you.”

Her response made him groan, pushing him closer to the edge, and while he kept her pinned down, the hand at her waist trailed down her stomach to rub her clit.

“Need you to cum for me, c'mon.” He nipped at her earlobe, and with the way her entire body was quivering, with the way her pussy was tightening erratically around his cock, he knew she was close, too. “Don’t you wanna be a good girl for me, sweetheart?”

His voice was quiet, gentler than it’d ever been as he whispered in her ear, and with him relentlessly stimulating her clit, it was enough to trigger her orgasm.

She came with a strangled cry. Her whole body was tense as Thomas fucked her through it, his thrusts getting sloppy, and by the time she came down from her high, she could feel her own tears streaking her cheeks. Everything ached; it was nearly too much, but she still wanted him to finish.

“Cum inside me, Thomas,” she pleaded, rolling her hips against his despite how the action made her wince. “I wanna feel it.”

His low moan was beyond satisfying to her. “Shit, babygirl, that’s what you want?” he asked, but she was preoccupied with the hickey she was sucking into the crook of his neck where it’d been hovering so tantalizingly above her mouth. It was the only was she had to ground herself as her oversensitivity heightened. “Want me to fill you up? Stuff your tight little cunt with my cum?”

“ _Yes_.” She was fully crying, then, burying her face into his neck. She would’ve said whatever he wanted, then, if it’d get him to finish. “Please. I need to be filled. I need _you_.”

Finally, he came with a loud groan, and she could feel him spilling inside her, dripping out of her pussy as he kept thrusting sloppily into her. She let out a soft whine, and his movements slowed. Even when he stopped, still fully laid atop her, she could feel her entire body throbbing. Her muscles ached.

“ _My god_ ,” Thomas sighed when he caught his breath, “that was so damn hot.”

His lips returned to her neck — he couldn’t help himself, really, enjoying how vulnerable the position left her when she tilted her head back, but he only kissed softly down her skin. He’d left more than enough marks. She hummed when he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, running his tongue over the hickey there.

His arms were shaky when he pushed himself up, trembling under his weight. Y/N grimaced when he pulled out, but he was still atop her, just propped up on his hands. All either of them could do was catch their breaths, for a moment.

Finally, Thomas asked, “You alright?” He took her face in his hand along with his words, and the tear tracks, the ruined mascara across her cheeks made him frown. “Was that too much? I didn’t cross any lines, did I?”

She shook her head, swallowed hard as she regained her bearings. She only managed to meet his eyes because she knew he needed the reassurance. “I’m good. Don’t worry.” She strained to kiss him, and he smiled against her lips. “You were great.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t too extreme? If any of that was a limit for you, I need you to tell me,” he said seriously. She shook her head, the corners of her lips upturned.

“It wasn’t. Relax, you don’t have to worry so much about me,” she murmured, and he creased his brow, concerned.

“Yeah, I do,” he insisted. “That’s a lotta power you’re givin’ me. I wanna be careful.”

“You don’t need to check in with me so often, though,” she assured him. “I have a safeword for a reason. Until I use it, keep going.”

“You looked real distressed before, though, sweetheart,” he said. She shrugged. “If I think something’s seriously wrong, you want me to, what, just ignore it?”

She smiled. “I don’t mind you checking in with me, Thomas. It’s sweet.”

“But?”

“But you’ll know if I ever really need to stop, okay?” Her words were soft, and with how close his face already was to hers, it didn’t take too much effort for her to kiss his cheek. “I trust you. I know you’ll take good care of me.”

At her words, his dick twitched against her inner thigh, and her grin was involuntary. Thomas didn’t seem to have much patience for the teasing look she wore. “Are you seriously getting hard over me telling you I trust you? That’s a turn-on for you?”

“D'you really wanna start talking about embarrassing kinks?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. She bit her lip. “'Cause you just gave me a whole lotta content to go off, sweetheart. I’m more than happy to have that conversation.”

She squirmed under him, and he only laughed at her annoyed pout.

“Shut up and untie me,” she grumbled, but her glare was weak. He kissed her downturned lips.

“I dunno; I might like you better like this,” he mused, and she scowled. “You’re a whole lot more agreeable when you’re helpless.”

“Don’t be a dick.” She nudged him with her shoulder. His grin didn’t waver.

“Alright, alright. Have some patience.” He kissed the hickey on her collarbone before he climbed off of her, and she sighed. She tipped her head back to watch him kneeling on the bed behind her. It didn’t take long for him to get her hands undone, but after the belt fell back onto the bed, he rubbed her wrists where it’d left deep red marks, massaging the feeling back into them. He kissed them softly, and she giggled.

He glanced back down at her. “What?”

She grinned. “You’re cute.”

He rolled his eyes as he let go of her hands, and she scooted back on the mattress to sit beside him at the headboard. When he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her into him, she climbed into his lap, her arms around his neck and her head against his chest.

“So, we gonna talk about what just happened, now?” he asked, and she huffed, but she didn’t look up. The vibrations of his voice rumbled through his chest.

“What’s there to say?”

“For starters, why the hell you didn’t tell me you had an IUD last Friday?” His hand had been resting against the side of her head, holding it against his chest, but with that, he lifted her chin, raising an eyebrow. Her smile was timid.

“I didn’t want you getting cum all over my sheets?”

He laughed. “And you’ve got no problem with fuckin’ mine up?”

“You’re rich. Buy a new set.”

“So much for you bein’ a _good girl_ for me,” he murmured, and she could feel her cheeks burning. His grin broadened when she broke his gaze. “Aw, c'mon, you better not think I’m gonna let that one go.”

“Yeah, but you could,” she suggested, and he laughed.

“I don’t think so. We both know you like it.” He kissed her hair when she laid her head back against his chest, wearing a pout. “Anyway, ‘s too adorable.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not,” he defended, but she glanced up at him skeptically. “What? I’m _not_.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She rolled off of him, pulled herself up to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m gonna use the bathroom. D'you know where I left my sweatshirt?”

He quirked a brow as he rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his forearm. “You mean where _I_ left your sweatshirt?”

“Sure.”

“Why d'you need it to go take a piss?”

“I’m not just gonna walk around your penthouse naked.”

“'N why not?” She raised her eyebrows dubiously, but he grinned. “I like seein’ all the hickeys I left.”

She rolled her eyes. "Can you get me a glass of water?“

"Oh, now you’re gonna get bossy on me?”

“Why not? You had your turn,” she said, but her tone was playful. “Quid pro quo, Jefferson.”

His grin only broadened. “Now, sweetheart, we both know I’ve got _no_ problem with reciprocating."


	9. Crossroads

**“THOMAS,” Y/N MURMURED,** fatigue heavy in her voice as she shook his sleeping body. “Thomas, c'mon, wake up.”

He didn’t move, and she sighed, trying to wiggle out of his grasp, shift his heavy arms from where they lay slung around her waist — the task was surprisingly difficult. His face still rested against her neck, and she began to tug harder at his forearms.

“Hey, come on, rise and shine,” she huffed, and the frustration in her voice at her predicament was growing audible. When she could feel his smile widening against her skin, though, it became clear that his limbs weren’t just unnaturally hefty and he wasn’t the world’s heaviest sleeper. He’d been awake the whole time, likely before she even had.

It’d been two weeks since Thomas had held his campaign event in Mira and Orlando’s diner, and it’d been three days since her interview with John Adams. By now, they were 28 primaries deep, and it was almost irrefutable that Thomas would become the Republican presidential nominee come that summer’s RNC.

She squirmed in his grasp, turning her head to look back at him, but he didn’t let up. If anything, his arms tightened around her waist; his eyes didn’t open. “I know you’re awake,” she said, her voice expectant. Still, he didn’t budge. “Stop with the act! I want breakfast,” she said, and though she was making an honest effort to sound stern, giggles pervaded her soft voice as he nuzzled his face into her neck.

“Shh, sweetheart, ’m still sleepin’,” he grumbled, voice gruff despite his ever-broadening grin. “Go back to bed. ’S too early for breakfast.”

“Thomas, it’s 11 AM,” she replied, and he cracked one eye open to see her skeptical stare. She couldn’t hide her smile, either, though.

“’M not sure I follow your point.” She rolled her eyes when his lips met the skin just below her ear, but she relaxed in his hold, tilting her head away as he began kissing down her jawline. “I’ve had a tirin’ week; don’t tell me you’re really gonna try and deprive me of the little rest I get.”

“Mmh, that I can understand, but I’m not sure you’re making much of an effort to get back to sleep right now.” Her voice was knowing, and when he chuckled, the vibrations of the sound, the tickle of his breath danced against her skin.

“Sure I am.” She let out a squeak when he nipped at her earlobe. “’S not my fault you’re distractin’ me. You’re not bein’ very considerate, sweetheart.”

“Shut up,” she laughed, “I have places to be, you know. Keeping me trapped here may as well be actively sabotaging my career.”

“Oh, so I should let you get up so you can get back to libelin’ me in the papers?”

Y/N shifted in his arms, and that time he let her as she turned to face him, resting her hands on his chest. “Precisely.”

As Thomas leaned in to kiss her, he let out a quiet huff of laughter, his hands trailing down to her hips. “And gimme one reason I should let you,” he whispered against her lips.

She shrugged, giving a coy smile. “It’s good for your publicity?”

That time, his laugh was full-bodied as he pushed her onto her back, resting on his forearm beside her head, and that time, she pulled him down to her with her arms looped around his neck. When their lips met, his hand slid under her where she lay, pressing up against the small of her back. Her grin widened against his, and his mouth fell to the skin of her neck, rising to leave the beginnings of a hickey just under her jawbone. She squealed, a hand tangling into his hair.

“Thomas!” She tried to scold him, but the lighthearted surprise in her voice abandoned her intention. “Thomas, you cannot give me a hickey there, c'mon.”

Obligingly, his lips left her neck, but his grin was wide as his nose brushed along the bottom of her cheek. “Now, I don’t see why not. You’ve got a couple of ‘em elsewhere; what’s wrong with this one?”

“You know what’s wrong with it.” That time, she managed to keep her voice even as she raised her eyebrows at him, pulling his head back up toward hers. “If I wanna be able to hide that, I’m gonna have to walk around in a ski mask.”

“Aw, c'mon, sweetheart.” His left hand rose from her waist to her cheek, his thumb sweeping across her cheekbone as his fingertips brushed the hair behind her ear. “You really that ashamed to be sleepin’ with the future president?”

“'Future president’,” she repeated with a huff of incredulous laughter, the sound almost a snort. “You’re so fucking full of yourself.”

“I’ve heard people say that confidence is sexy,” he said, and she rolled her eyes.

“Maybe, but arrogance is kind of a turn-off.” She gave an apologetic shrug, and as he shook his head with amusement, his smile was undeterred.

“I must be walkin’ that line pretty well, then.” His self-satisfaction permeated the entirety of his demeanor, and he kissed the corner of her mouth. “'Cause you’ve never seemed to mind.”

“Oh my god, it is too early for your ego to already be this big,” she groaned, shoving his shoulder, and though he rolled onto his back with little resistance, wearing a lazy grin, he pulled her with him, her hands resting on his shoulders and legs straddling his waist.

His hands ghosted across her hips. “Sorry, sweetheart, but really, you’re the one feedin’ my ego, so if you took some ownership of your actions, maybe we wouldn’t have this problem.”

She raised her eyebrows, eyeing him. “I’m feeding your ego? I have a few articles that’d beg to differ.”

“I didn’t say your writin’ was.” He shrugged, tracing circles into the skin of her lower back. “’S pretty unflatterin’, really, but I’m above the haters.”

“Then how am I inflating your ego?”

Despite how dubious her expectant expression remained, his smile broadened. “'Cause you keep comin’ back here for more.”

He didn’t waste another moment before pulling her body back down against his, a hand resting at the nape of her neck as he leaned up to kiss her. She laughed against his lips and put up no resistance, not as he deepened it, not as his every action became more impatient, his every touch harsher. It was when he tried to push her back so he was above her that she pulled away.

“Nuh-uh.” She shook her head, her voice stern despite how her chest was heaving, how she was struggling to catch her breath. “I’m getting up, Thomas. The options I gave you were to get some more sleep or to finally pull yourself together and be productive. Last I checked, neither of those included making out in your bed.”

He frowned, but the look in his eyes was playful regardless. “You’re just bein’ uncreative.”

Y/N rolled her eyes with an entertained smile as she climbed off of him, and despite the thinly-veiled disappointment in his expression (something that escaped her), he let her go easily.

“Where are you headed on a Saturday mornin’ that’s so urgent, anyway?” he asked, pursing his lips as he pushed himself off the side of his bed, standing and reaching down for the shirt he’d discarded onto his floor. She shrugged, pulling back on her jeans.

“I have an article I have to finish drafting by this evening. It’s a bit longer than some of my others, and my editor’s getting impatient.”

There was a certain deliberacy in her not meeting his gaze, but it wasn’t something he realized. “Yeah? What’s it about?”

“The usual,” she said, glancing back at him with a smile. “You.”

He grinned. “Y'know, I can get you a meetin’ with a primary source, if you want.”

Her laugh at his words was light as she fixed the necklace she’d fallen asleep in, detangling it from her hair. “Might that meeting happen to be with you, right now?”

She raised an expectant eyebrow, and he huffed at her conviction as she pulled on her sweater. “’M gettin’ too predictable, huh?”

“You still manage to keep me on my toes.” Her reply was absentminded, her focus instead on the torn clasp of her bra, and she stuffed it into her purse with a disappointed sigh. “But really, I should be headed out. I have a feeling it won’t be too long before I run into you again.”

“Just can’t stay away from me?” His gaze was teasing, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Not if I want to keep my job.” She offered a wry smile. “And considering the benefits that apparently come with it, I’m not about to give it up.”

“Glad to hear I’m invaluable.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

* * *

**“…ANG?”**

**“HM?”**

**“HAVE** you ever written an article that you felt like you shouldn’t publish?”

Y/N glanced back at her roommate from her spot on the couch, holding a red pen and a hard copy of the article she’d drafted the night prior. She’d promised her editor it’d be sent in by midnight, and there she sat, twenty hours later, agonizing over the writing with her sweatpants and a bowl of ramen.

Angelica shrugged.

“I dunno. Maybe?” She walked over from the kitchen, leaning on the back of the couch as she glanced down at her. “What’s the article about?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Y/N was quick to turn it over, hiding the headline before Angelica could catch anything more than the words 'Family Values.’ Angelica raised an eyebrow. “But… I just don’t know if it’s the type of thing I want to be writing.”

“I’m going to need more information than that, honey.” She came around to join Y/N on the couch with her own mug of tea. Y/N sighed.

“I’ve just been feeling lately like Ashley wants me to become a gossip columnist, or something. I want to write real news, my own analyses. Not some bullshit modern-day yellow journalism.”

At that, Angelica groaned. “I got the same spiel when she was my editor, too. That’s why I changed departments.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Seriously?”

As she fiddled absentmindedly with her stack of papers, folding the article in her lap, Angelica shrugged, gave a halfhearted nod. “I didn’t have much of a choice, as I saw it. Ashley doesn’t really care about content; she cares about readers. She’ll always do anything for more of them.”

“But I like covering politics,” Y/N sighed. “I just don’t like doing it like this.”

“You aren’t leaving yourself too many options, there.”

“I know.” She picked her laptop back up from the coffee table, swallowing thickly, and she eyed her drafted PDF. “But I’ve worked too hard for all of this to just give it up, and I love what I do at the Post.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“Hm?” She glanced up, her preoccupied gaze having fallen to the page of John Adams’s grim soliloquy. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what are you going to tell Ashley? You can’t avoid her forever,” Angelica pointed out. “You still have to go in to work tomorrow, so you’ve gotta have something to give her.”

She drew in a shaky breath as she minimized the tab of her article, beginning to resent staring at the double-spaced, Times New Roman void that’d long since begun to stare back. “I’ll probably just dig something up about James Madison’s time in Congress. I’m sure there’s some era of his voting history I’ve yet to dramatize.”

“I’m sure she’ll love it,” Angelica replied in a dry tone, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Lights, camera, James Madison votes 'nay’ on impeachment. What an absolute riot it’ll be.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at the brash skepticism. “I know that’s not what she’s looking for, but it’ll tide her over until I can figure out what to do with my draft.”

“C'mon, what’s it say? Just tell me; it can’t be that bad,” Angelica reasoned, tipping her mug in Y/N’s direction (and ignoring the teaspoon of Earl Gray that sloshed over its side). “You were so eager to interview John Adams — what’d he tell you that you don’t want to publish?”

“It’s not… that bad. It’d be front-page news,” she said, lips pursed. Her tone was hesitant. “The problem is, Adams couldn’t give me anything to corroborate his claims. I have no way of knowing whether this is literally libel.”

“Give it over.” Angelica reached for the folded draft Y/N held in her lap, at which she raised an eyebrow. “What am I going to do with it, Y/N? I just can’t give you any advice without context.”

She handed it to her reluctantly, and the silence sat heavy atop her shoulders for the next few minutes. Angelica was skimming the article, collecting the main points and glossing over the rest, but every time Angelica’s eyebrows jumped, so did Y/N’s pulse. She swallowed hard as Angelica reached the final paragraph. She folded it back up, and just sat there a moment, took a deep breath. Finally—

“Wow,” Angelica breathed. “You’re right. That would be front-page news.”

“I know.”

“So what’s the sticking place?”

“I just feel like…” Y/N trailed off, doing her best to pinpoint the source of her hesitation. “What Adams told me was years ago. He couldn’t tell me anything about it happening again, and it feels so cheap to try and drag up Thomas’s past like this now that he’s broken away from it.”

Angelica didn’t comment on her using his first name, although she raised an eyebrow. “But if you find out it’s all true, then there’s no harm. Not to you, anyway — unless you care about hurting Jefferson’s feelings.”

Sarcasm was lain thick in Angelica’s words, but they made Y/N flinch. “It just isn’t relevant to the election, and I hate to think it could affect it despite that. I don’t want to be the kind of reporter that publishes things like this.”

“But if he’s done it before, who’s to say he won’t again? Who’s to say he isn’t already?” Angelica asked, and Y/N was struggling to hold her tongue — _she_ was to say he wasn’t; she would _know_ ; by then, wasn’t she as good as a primary source?

When she didn’t respond, Angelica shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Y/N. I get your hesitation, but honestly, there are worse things to publish than an exposé on Thomas Jefferson’s harrowing past.”

She glanced over at her, eyed Y/N’s troubled expression with her lips pursed. “I think this is a decision only you can make. Only you know what kind of reporter you want to be.”

* * *

 **THE NEXT NIGHT** was the first time in weeks that Y/N had told her friends she was going to Lafayette’s place and then _actually_ went to Lafayette’s place. He was at the stove when she arrived, making himself dinner, and he’d left the door unlocked for her, shouting to 'come in!’ when she knocked.

“So, am I allowed to ask why it is zat you so urgently needed me?” He glanced back at her over his shoulder when she greeted him, shrugging her jacket off, but he didn’t seem to have any patience for pleasantries.

“I never said I 'urgently needed you’,” Y/N defended, brow furrowed as she took a seat at his kitchen counter. “I just want to talk.”

Lafayette deadpanned as he turned to her, eyeing her skeptically. Apparently, her unease was obvious. “ _Why_ do you want to talk to me, Y/N?” he asked, voice flat. He folded his arms when she raised her eyebrows.

When she paused, his skepticism escalated, and she sighed. “I came to ask for advice. I’m trying to figure something out for my job.”

“Oui?” He furrowed his brow as he turned to join her, taking a seat across the counter and leaving his food to simmer. Y/N nodded.

She eyed him warily when the silence between them stretched on, hesitant to ask her next question, but she was delaying the inevitable. She said in a small voice, “Can I ask you about Thomas’s past?”

Lafayette’s eyebrows shot up. “His past? What for?”

“An article, of course.” Y/N sounded unfairly disgruntled as she let out a huff. “It’s… a problematic piece. I met with a source who asked to remain unnamed, and I’m having trouble corroborating what he told me; it seems so tabloid-y. I was hoping you could give me some kind of insight into whether it’s true.”

He folded his arms, contemplative gaze averted to the countertop, and gave a slow nod. “I see. What 'as your source told you?”

Y/N hesitated, before reaching for her bag. “D'you know about Thomas’s late fiancée?”

“Martha?” he asked, eyebrows shooting up. Y/N nodded reluctantly. “What could zis possibly 'ave to do with 'er?”

“It’s not about her, but…” She trailed off, but after a moment, she sighed, withdrawing a printed copy of the article from her bag. “She’s a factor in the story. Here, just read it. You’ll understand why I’m so hesitant to move forward with publishing.”

“Alright.”

Several minutes passed in radio silence after she slid him her draft. Ultimately, his reaction bore very little difference from Angelica’s.

“Wow.” Instead of the shock Y/N had received from her best friend, Lafayette’s tone was of flat disappointment. He let out a heavy sigh. “I did know about all of zis, but I am not sure I understand why your source is bringing it up now. You do know zat Thomas 'as not done any of zat in years, non?”

“I mean, I know he isn’t doing it right now, but to be honest…” Y/N trailed off with a shrug. “I haven’t known him all that long. I don’t know how recently he stopped, and I don’t know if he’d ever do it again.”

“Let us look at zis logically, hm?” Lafayette said, passing her back the papers. “I understand why you would want to publish zis, but I hesitate to tell you zat is what you should do. What do you gain from putting zis in ze paper?”

“Well, the benefits are pretty obvious,” she said, her gaze downcast, and Lafayette sat with his patient, gentle concern. “This would be a big story. It’d be a major career booster; I might even be able to leave my job and find a higher-paying one. Otherwise, I could probably leverage it for a raise. It could solve so many of my money problems.”

“Zat does seem rather nice,” he agreed softly, but they were both aware there was more to the story.

“I know,” she groaned, slumping on his counter, and she wore a guilty frown. She didn’t meet his eyes. “But I just… don’t know if that’s the right choice.”

“So what is 'olding you back?” Lafayette leaned onto the counter, a brow raised, and Y/N met his gaze.

“I … don’t know if I can do that to Thomas. I mean, he’s running for president, sure, but at the end of the day, he’s just a person,” she said, and sympathy laced Lafayette’s gaze. “He told me about his fianceé, actually. I know this is a really, really sensitive subject, and it feels wrong to publish it.”

“When did you talk to Thomas about 'er?”

“More than a month ago, now.” She swallowed. “I was, um, telling him about someone I’d lost, and he told me about how she died when he was younger. It made me feel less alone; I don’t want to betray his trust like this. I… don’t wanna lose him, after all that.”

“So you are worried about 'urting 'im?” Lafayette asked softly, tilting his head to one side, and she took a deep, shuddering breath.

“How could I not be?” she retorted, shoulders tense. “On top of outright airing his dirty laundry, it’d force him to address such a tragedy with the entirety of the American public.”

A beat passed, and Lafayette was hesitant to voice his thoughts, but Y/N’s mind was racing, dragging her back down to the frustrated, guilty headspace she’d been unable to escape over the past few days. Finally, Lafayette broke the silence.

“You really care about protecting Thomas, do you not?” he said quietly, and as she didn’t reply, it seemed he’d hit the mark. “Chérie, if you care about 'im like zat, I think you are going to need to sort it out before you go any further with zis article.”

“Wait, what d'you mean, 'care about him like that’?” Y/N echoed. “We’re friends, Lafayette. Usually, I try not to put my friends through this kind of grief.”

“Only friends?” he asked, a brow raised. He folded his arms as he met her dead stare.

“Yes.” She scowled, folding up the article and tucking it back into a folder. “This isn’t about my relationship with him; it’s about me trying to be a decent human being. I’d do the same if this article were about you, y'know.”

He wore a small smile; her frustrated insistence had become defensive. “Mmh, perhaps, but it would not be for ze same reasons.”

“Shut up; yes it would,” she mumbled. Her cheeks burned. “You’re making this deeper than it is. It’s a question of my journalistic integrity. That’s it.”

“Zat was not ze impression I was getting while you were going on about 'not wanting to lose 'im’.”

“Can you stop making fun of me and just give me some advice?” She huffed, but he could only laugh.

“Of course,” he said, resting a hand on her arm in an effort to placate her, but she rolled her eyes. “I believe zat it comes down to what you truly think is right, honestly, but as far as I can tell, you 'ave less to gain zan you 'ave to lose by publishing zis.”

Her weary sigh was beyond heavy; defeat was strung across her shoulders. Publishing the article might be the wrong choice, but living as she was, hardly paying her bills and struggling to stay afloat with her student debt, working two jobs to make ends meet, the benefits were tempting. “Of course you’d say that,” she said. He raised an affronted brow. “You’re French nobility by birth. You have no idea what it’s like to be broke, do you?”

He paused. “Non,” he said. “I do not. And I will not stand 'ere and tell you zat Thomas is more important zan your job. But please, Y/N, remember zat you 'ave many friends who would be willing to support you through financial troubles. Myself included.”

“Can you even imagine how shitty it feels to be dependent on everyone around me?” Y/N asked, and Lafayette pursed his lips. “I already feel so guilty for my godparents cutting me a deal on rent. But if I get to a point where I can’t even afford that, I’m fucked. My car’s already a piece of junk, and the brakes are so worn-out that it’s a wonder I haven’t gotten into a wreck yet. I need to, at least, be able to afford somewhere to live.”

“But you would 'ave ze same income if you chose not to publish zis,” he countered, and she sighed.

“I don’t think I would, actually. My editor’s pissed about me not following through with an article from this interview—” She motioned to the papers, “—and she’s been dropping thinly-veiled threats about transferring me to another department. Having to start over in an entirely new area of reporting, my pay is going to drop.”

A beat passed as Lafayette considered her, and she couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Listen, Y/N, no matter what choice you make, I will not judge you,” he ultimately said, “but if you go through with publishing zis, Thomas will almost certainly be unable to forgive you.”

“I know,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “But I love my job. I love being able to report on the presidential election, be in the thick of everything. The position is more than just a paycheck, and the fact that it’s in jeopardy hurts. As much as I hate to say it, I’m not sure if I can justify putting Thomas before my career.”

“You do not 'ave to,” he assured her, “but you asked for my opinion. And I do not think zat you should put zis in print.”

A long moment passed in silence. He was right; she knew he was right, that this article could come back to bite her, but every time she thought about how often she had to crank down the heat in her apartment to lower her utilities bill, or the nights she’d count her tips from the diner down to the penny with the desperate hope that they’d put her student loan payment over the top, she found herself entertaining the possibility nonetheless.

“Thank you,” she finally said, “Really. I just need some time to think. I need to sort this out for myself.”

“I trust your judgment.” Lafayette’s answer was almost too generous considering the circumstance; nausea was settling into the pit of her stomach as he offered her a gentle smile. “But… is zere any chance you would be willing to consider bringing zis up to Thomas, if only for ze sake of clarity? I would hate to 'ear zat it did not represent 'is true experience.”

“I…” The sentence was intended to be 'I can’t.’ Talking to him would multiply the guilt lain heavy across her shoulders, but Lafayette was right - were this about anyone else, she’d confront them without a second thought. But if she told Thomas about the article, even if it was true down to the last letter, she wouldn’t have the heart to publish it. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. But right now, I don’t feel like I can face him.”

“You should do it before you send it in.”

“And I will,” she said, the words carrying a surprising air of finality. “But this has me feeling… too conflicted; I don’t even know how I’m gonna deal with him showing up at the diner during my shift tomorrow.”

“Can you not get someone else to cover ze shift?” he asked, and she pursed her lips, resting her head in her hands.

“Yeah, you don’t get it. I live in the flat above the diner, so they’ll just come upstairs and drag me out of bed in the morning,” she said. “It’s a no-win situation.”

He paused, before offering, “If you want, you could stay 'ere overnight, just until your shift ends.” Her eyebrows shot up.

“Wait, seriously?”

He shrugged. “You did not cause me too much trouble ze last time you stayed ‘ere, so I do not think zere would be any issue.”

She hesitated, eyeing him as if looking for some ulterior motive, but when she (finally) accepted the authenticity of the suggestion, she answered, “That’d be excellent. Thank you.”

“It is my pleasure, truly,” he said, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smile. “But can I offer you pajamas? To each their own, but I, for one, would not be eager to sleep in those jeans.”

She laughed at the quip, his light tone putting her at ease. “That’d be great.”

“Alright, give me one moment.”

As he retreated from the kitchen, disappeared down the hall back to his bedroom, Y/N stuffed her article back into her purse, zipping it shut — out of sight, out of mind. Instead of dwelling, she kicked off her shoes by his door, went to curl up on his couch with her phone. Casting her guilty conscience aside would only last another minute or two.

The door to Lafayette’s apartment clicked open.

Y/N’s head shot up in surprise as heavy footsteps came in without a moment of hesitation. He didn’t see her at first, not as he circled back to lock the door behind him, but the identity of the man who’d just walked in was unmistakable. He turned; as he surveyed the apartment, his and Y/N’s eyes met, and Thomas Jefferson stood before her — it seemed she’d made the mistake of speaking of the devil, as, serendipitously, there he appeared.

Though he furrowed his brow, a grin split his expression. “Y/N?” he asked, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Hey, what’re you doin’ here?”

“Oh, I um…” Her smile was hesitant. “I just dropped by to say hi to Lafayette. What are you doing here?”

His smile drooped almost imperceptibly at her accusatory tone. “Just came over to see if I could borrow his laptop real quick. My charger broke, and I’m tryin’ to send a couple files.”

“Oh,” was all she answered with. A moment passed in silence, then; she wasn’t sure how to proceed when all she could focus on was the mounting guilt she carried on her shoulders, but she didn’t break his gaze, and he nodded to the couch.

“Mind if I join you?”

Her relief at his breaking the silence was written across her face — she wore a grateful smile, gave a small nod. “Please.”

When the couch dipped on her left, she took a deep breath, desperate to clear her head as she averted her eyes from him. When she turned back to him, though, she didn’t find Thomas by her side, but instead seated with a cautious degree of space between them, his legs propped up on the ottoman. He was too far to unwittingly come into contact with her, for her to bump into his shoulder, for her to inadvertently brush her leg against his as she turned on the couch, but he was close enough that she _could’ve_. Her fingers twitched in her lap.

“So where’s Laf, then?” he asked, turning his head toward her, and as she pulled her legs up onto the couch, she shifted in her seat, leaning against its back to face him.

“He’s just back in his room,” she said, and she had to bite her tongue before she could elaborate on why. “He, um, probably won’t be long. He was just here.”

A moment passed in silence as Thomas watched her, but she didn’t say another word. “Alright,” he finally said, but he paused before he asked, “Is everything okay?”

“Hm?” Her eyebrows shot toward her hairline. Her gaze had drifted toward Lafayette’s rug, away from Thomas. She didn’t meet his eyes. “I mean, yeah, of course; why wouldn’t it be?”

She offered him a tight smile, but apparently, he was just a shade too perceptive for her.

“You seem… preoccupied, sweetheart,” he said, and concern was etched into his raised eyebrow. “Did somethin’ happen?”

“Nothing; don’t worry,” she assured him, though the easygoing expression she wore was shallow.

“You really don’t think I know you well enough to see right through that?” His disbelief was clear in his voice, too, but had it not expanded the weight of her guilt on her shoulders, his easy confidence that he could read her like a book would’ve softened her.

She frowned. “You don’t have to sound so suspicious. Maybe you just don’t know me as well as you think.”

“'Suspicious’?” he repeated in disbelief, letting out a dry laugh. “Sorry, then. ’M not tryin’ to grill you, I was just concerned.” Her eyes were fixed on the four feet of space between them on the couch, and he still wore a tentative smile.

The way he watched her, eyeing her figure, the way she shifted in her poorly-suppressed agitation, was reminiscent of the hesitation on his face when he’d found her weeks before in that very room, clad only in a towel and a fading hickey, and proceeded to accuse her of sleeping with Lafayette. She wasn’t fond of the parallel.

“Well, relax, then,” she said. “Everything’s just fine.”

“If you say so.”

She couldn’t remember having ever been so on-edge around him — not during Washington’s state dinner, all those months back; not in Detroit after the debates; not even the fateful night when he’d showed up to her diner three minutes before closing — and she didn’t like the feeling one bit. She was painstakingly aware of where her printed article was tucked away in relation to their spots on the couch.

"Anyway, what’ve you and Laf been up to all evenin’?” Thomas asked, and the way he was watching her had annoyance compounding. Her focus was shifting from her article to the bitter trace in his voice. “Hope I’m not here… interruptin’ anything.”

“Not at all,” she said firmly. “Like I said, we’ve just been talking.”

“…Gotcha.”

She didn’t cherish the unsteady silence that fell between them, though, despite making no move to fill it. Maybe coming to Lafayette’s had been a mistake.

To her relief, though, that was the moment Lafayette chose to re-emerge from the hall where his bedroom was, a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants (the same ones that she’d all but repossessed when she lived there) in hand. Upon seeing Thomas seated beside Y/N, though, he discarded them onto his kitchen counter, eyebrows raised as he approached them. The notable distance between them gave him pause, too.

“Ah, Thomas, it is good to see you,” he said, tone unequivocally warm, but he paused before asking, “What brings you to my 'umble 'ome?”

Y/N snorted at his calling the luxury penthouse in any way “humble,” but Thomas didn’t regard it.

“Just stoppin’ by to see if I can borrow your laptop?” Lafayette cocked his head to one side, and Thomas went on, “There are a couple files in my Google Drive I need to send, and my charger’s broken. New one doesn’t come in the mail till tomorrow. But if the two of you are, well, _busy_ …”

Talk about beating a dead horse. We get it, Thomas. Shift your tunnel vision, please.

“Non! Non, of course, let me go get it. Give me another moment,” Lafayette said, but before he left, he turned to Y/N with the stack of clothing he’d discarded on the counter, passing it off to her as he continued toward his office. “And 'ere are ze clothing zat you requested, chérie.”

Thomas caught her gaze with a curious brow raised: apparently, Lafayette and Y/N sharing sweatpants wasn’t helping her case that they were just there “talking.” She swallowed her grimace.

“Actually, Laf, I appreciate it, but I should probably go.” Lafayette paused at her words, turning around with a frown as she stood up with an apologetic smile. “It was good to see you, though.”

“I thought that you were staying over ze night,” he said, brow furrowed. Thomas’s reaction to that wasn’t subtle, either, his jaw tense, and her smile was turning into more of a wince.

“No, I mean, I’d better not,” she said, giving a halfhearted shrug. “You know I’ve got my shift at the diner in the morning, and I won’t get up early enough to drive back across town before it starts, so really, I should be going.”

She had begun to back herself away toward the kitchen, having pulled her purse back onto her shoulder.

“It is 'ardly five in the afternoon. You can still stay longer, then, no?” Lafayette asked, folding his arms.

“I really shouldn’t,” she said hurriedly, offering little explanation. “I don’t want to impose, anyway.”

“You would not be imposing. Do not worry,” he assured her, but glancing between her and Thomas, a sly smile split his expression. “Thomas, you should stay for dinner as well. It would be nice.”

'Nice’ was not a word Y/N would’ve used for it. In a few short minutes, her stay at Lafayette’s penthouse had turned from an escape from facing Thomas in the morning into an evening trapped in with him.

“I appreciate the offer, but that’s alright,” Thomas said. Y/N glanced at him. “I’ll give you two the night to yourselves.”

At that, she let out a heavy sigh but plastered on a stiff, apologetic expression. “That’s not necessary. I was just leaving, anyway. I really should get back to the diner.”

Thomas eyed her with heavy skepticism in his gaze. “Yeah? You don’t have a shift tonight.”

“How would you know that?” Y/N asked, looking him up and down, and despite everything, he cracked a small grin.

“Didn’t I say I was gonna learn your schedule, sweetheart?”

A moment passed in silence, and when Thomas raised a playful eyebrow, Y/N couldn’t help but smile, pursing her lips in an effort to abate it. “You’re still on that?” she asked, and he shrugged. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You don’t seem to mind.” He sent her a wink, and while she rolled her eyes, her smile was unbridled.

Meanwhile, Lafayette was watching the interaction with a brow raised, entertained grin playing at his lips. “Are you sure you would not like to both stay for dinner? I was planning on making pasta.”

While they’d both glanced up at the sound of Lafayette’s voice, at the question, their gazes fell back to one another, both hesitant, both questioning. The silence was drawn-out, but Y/N was the one who decided to break it.

“As much as I’d love to, I really do have work to get done tonight.” Her voice was soft as she walked back to where she’d slung her jacket over one of the chairs in Lafayette’s kitchen. “Thanks for having me, Lafayette.”

“I’m gonna get goin’, too.” Thomas’s actions were hasty as he stood, giving Lafayette a small smile before following Y/N toward his door. Lafayette folded his arms.

“I thought that you needed my laptop.”

He paused. “Yeah, 'bout that, I decided I’m gonna go out and buy myself a new charger, instead.” His gaze flickered back to Y/N, who was watching him with a brow raised, a small smile playing at her lips as she stood by the door, hesitant to turn the handle. “After all, I can’t be comin’ over here every time I need your computer. Thanks, though.”

“Did you not say you ordered—?”

“Bye, Lafayette.” When Thomas spoke that time, it was firm, and Lafayette knew enough to take a hint, backing off with his hands raised in mock surrender. “The offer’s real nice, though.”

By then, Y/N had made her way out, the conversation between the pair of them falling to the outer range of her earshot as the penthouse door began to fall shut behind her. She was walking down the hall, her pace slow as she focused on re-buttoning her jacket, when she heard heavy footsteps approach behind her, too distinct to mistake. She pursed her lips and glanced back.

Thomas had pulled the door back open just before it’d clicked shut, headed after Y/N but seemingly in no rush (or, otherwise, confident she’d wait for him).

“So, suddenly sending those files isn’t much of an urgent matter?” Y/N had stopped in her path when she saw him heading her way, and though her tone was teasing, her small smile was in earnest. He shrugged, the picture of nonchalance.

“I’ve gotta learn to be self-sufficient at some point, now, don’t I?”

“Awfully convenient timing.”

“Isn’t it?” He grinned as he reached her side, and she rolled her eyes while they continued toward the elevator. “Gimme a break, though; I needed an excuse to get outta the house for a while. I’ve been inside editing speeches and runnin’ numbers for the past couple days.”

“And so you decided to follow me out,” she said matter-of-factly, glancing at him as they crossed the hall.

“That’s exactly what I did. No need to harp on it,” he said, and though she wanted to huff at his words, she instead found herself swallowing an endeared smile.

“Hope you didn’t leave on my account.”

“And I hope you didn’t leave on mine.” His dry tone had her furrowing her brow, and when she met his eyes, his gaze was expectant. “Think I heard something about you plannin’ to 'stay the night’ back there?”

She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks; her skin burned. While she’d seen Thomas’s reactions to Lafayette’s words just minutes before, she hadn’t been expecting to be confronted with them so abruptly (particularly because she’d been there trying to avoid Thomas in the first place). “It’s not what you think. I was planning on crashing, but I don’t have my work phone on me, and there’s a lot I need to get done tonight.”

“Oh, yeah? Can I give you a ride home?”

“That’s alright,” she said. “I drove myself here, so I have my car with me.”

“So you’re not gonna take me up on an opportunity to spend some more time together?” He arched a playful eyebrow, and the tension had melted from his gaze. His skepticism about Lafayette was no longer visible, at least. Y/N wore a small, soft smile that was threatening to split her expression into a grin. “I’m hurt, really.

"As tempting as it is,” she replied, “I’m parked illegally.”

“Whatta shame.”

“Mhm. I’ll have to remember to Uber next time.”

“Next time I pull you away from spendin’ the night with Lafayette, you mean?” he asked, and the teasing bite to his voice was edging closer and closer to bitterness. Her smile fell flat.

“Not what I had in mind,” Y/N replied dryly. “Anyway, like I said: it isn’t like that.”

Thomas’s stare was all disbelief — no degree of his suspicion had faded, apparently. “Then what’s it like, Y/N?”

“I was just trying to skip my morning shift. Stop reading into things.”

“And you couldn’t have, I dunno, just stayed home tomorrow?”

“I live above the diner, Thomas.” She wanted to scoff. “If I’d stayed home, Mira would’ve just come to get me.”

“You could’ve come spent the night over at my place.”

“What’s the difference?” She pressed the 'down’ button on the elevator, and as they came to a stop, she looked up at him. “You were working, anyway.”

“I coulda taken a break, for you,” he insisted as he knocked his elbow into hers, and she raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“What’s your problem with me staying over with Lafayette, hm?” she asked. “I don’t think it’s any of your business, regardless of what I was doing there.”

“Don’t be like that,” he said with a sigh, “You know why I’m askin’.”

“That doesn’t make it a fair question.”

The elevator came; they both entered it, and after its doors slid shut, the proximity was stifling, almost claustrophobic, but it was moving at an astoundingly slow pace as it descended through the tens of floors below Lafayette’s and Thomas’s penthouses. Thomas glanced down at Y/N.

“So are you tellin’ me you and him are a thing, then?” he asked. She scoffed.

“God, why are you so concerned about this? Can you relax?”

“All I’m askin’ for is a straight answer.”

“Lafayette and I aren’t together.” The standoff that followed was unnecessary, and when he didn’t respond, she went on. “But that said, even if we were, it wouldn’t be your business.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t it?”

“No.” His silence told her that he was waiting for an explanation. “We aren’t together, either, in case you’d forgotten.”

A beat passed. “No, I guess we aren’t.” He turned away from her, glancing at the floor number as they came to a stop. “But I’m allowed to care, sweetheart.”

“This isn’t caring. It’s being nosy.” She sighed. “Listen, I like you, Thomas, but I have a million other things going on in my life that don’t involve you. Can’t you stop prying?”

“I’m not tryin’ to pry.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Oh, gimme a break,” he scoffed. “Like you wouldn’t care if I was sleepin’ with other women?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I’m serious,” she defended. “Who you’re screwing is your business. I mean, as long as you let me know when one of them gets an STD.”

She meant the last part as a joke, but Thomas wasn’t amused. “So what I’m hearin’ is to watch my mail for a doctor’s note sayin’ one of the guys you’re sleepin’ with put me at risk of herpes?”

“Thomas, I’m kidding.” He rolled his eyes. They heard the ping that told them the elevator doors were about to open. “You’re not seriously mad about this, are you? I’m not sleeping around.”

“Well, that’s none of my business, is it?” he said, and Y/N furrowed her brow.

“I mean, no, but…” she trailed off, looking up at him as they left the elevator together. “I really don’t know what you want me to say here.”

“Then you don’t need to.” His jaw was set, and he didn’t meet her eyes. She didn’t say anything, and finally, he glanced down at her. “I’ll see you around, Y/N. Take good care of that life of yours I’m not a part of.”

She didn’t know then that this was the last thing he’d say to her for the next three weeks.

* * *

 **SHE DIDN’T SEE** Thomas at the diner the next morning.

In fact, she didn’t see him at all for two weeks after that, let alone talk to him. She didn’t reach out to him, and he didn’t reach out to her. They were both sharply aware of the other’s absence.

And they both knew it was intentional, at least on their own part, but Y/N didn’t realize it went both ways. For her, it was guilt — she moved around her schedule at the diner, swapped shifts whenever she could, but some small part of her desperately hoped he’d text her. Being around him would make the stress weighing on her heavier, but she dearly wanted the reassurance that he still had any interest in seeing her.

The closest thing she received to that reassurance was a registration confirmation for her spot at his next press conference.

Thomas had seemingly grown fond of closed events — the fewer reporters and the smaller the venue, the more exclusive the information becomes. Y/N didn’t mind, either. By that point in the election cycle, she was beyond sick of having to shove her way through crowds of tabloid “journalists” and locals from whatever small Midwestern swing-state town was hosting the campaign’s major rallies.

But she also knew very well that, given the limited scope of the events, Thomas had to approve the list of registrations himself. Of course, she’d have been wildly offended if he’d turned her away, but the fact that he didn’t, at least, was something.

Regardless, small press conferences were much more Y/N’s style. They left her with much more personal space; they were cozier, more intimate (as though she had any shortage of intimacy with the man about to take center stage). In the conference room Thomas had rented out that afternoon, she actually had somewhere to put her laptop and notepad, an environment where she could focus, all but entirely free of distraction—

“Y/N L/N?”

…What was that about 'free of distraction’?

She sighed internally as she turned to whoever had apparently spotted her with little trouble, but when she met his eyes, it wasn’t the burden she’d been expecting.

“Ben?” A small smile broke through her stony expression, and he answered it with one of his own. “Hey, it’s been a minute. I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

“To be fair, you didn’t ask.”

“Touché,” Y/N laughed as he reached the empty seat beside her, raising an eyebrow.

“Saving this for anyone?” His fingers drummed on the back of the rolling chair, and she shrugged.

“Well, it was available, but I just found out someone I know is coming to this press conference, so I think it’s kinda reserved for him now.”

He rolled his eyes. "You _just_ found out I was here.“

She pursed her lips when he gave her a pointed look, and when he raised an eyebrow, a half-hearted scowl broke through her facade. "Am I that transparent?” He shrugged, wearing a smug smile, and she rolled her eyes. “Alright, alright, you win. Have a seat.”

“Why, thank you,” he said, sarcasm heavy in his voice as he pulled the chair out for himself. “You’re the nicest.”

“I do try,” Y/N responded, and Ben couldn’t help his smile.

“So what’s your agenda, today, then?” He looked up at her as he took a seat, withdrew his laptop from his satchel.

“Though it may surprise you,” she began, “I didn’t actually come today with much of a plan. I’m thinking I’ll just let things play out however they will.”

“Living on the edge these days?”

“Something like that.” She gave him a small smile as she pulled up an empty Google Doc, and from where she was sitting, she couldn’t see how Ben was watching her, but if they cared enough to look, the rest of the room could. Only one person cared enough to look.

“Glad to hear it,” he said, and when she glanced back at him, the mischief dancing in his smile made her apprehensive. “I have always liked a woman who takes some risks.”

Y/N was visibly taken aback, and he seemed to be enjoying it. “Oh, really?”

“What can I say?” He shrugged, and though she was fighting a losing battle against the heat rising up the back of her neck, she wore a small smile. “There’s even something undeniably sexy about seeing people leave entire sections of their planners blank.”

At that, she scowled, but there was no bite to it. “Don’t make fun of me. I don’t even own a planner.”

He feigned surprise, wiggling his eyebrows. “Ooh, even better. Keep talking; tell me about all the files you haven’t backed up, either.”

“Alright, that’s about enough outta you,” she scolded him, face burning by then, but his laugh set her at ease. “I never claimed to be some sort of daredevil.”

“Mmh, see, now you’re just killing the mood,” he said matter-of-factly. Y/N raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I was getting really into that, alright? You haven’t even started telling me about how disorganized your underwear drawer—”

“I said enough,” she cut him off with a pointed look, but amusement permeated her poorly-suppressed smile. “This is neither the time nor the place, and you very well know it.”

He quirked a brow. “So there’s a time and a place where you would want to hear all this? I can make that happen, just—”

“Ben, I’m serious.” The laugh in her voice did little to dissuade him.

“—let me know when, and I’ll be right over.”

“ _Ben_.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m free the rest of the afternoon when I leave here, so—”

Everyone’s heads snapped to the front of the room, though, when Thomas cleared his throat, and Ben cut himself off, throwing Y/N a sheepish smile. As the rest of the room’s chatter subsided, though, he leaned back in toward her, adding in a low voice, “so give me a call if you’re looking to get _really_ risky.”

She elbowed Ben when he winked dramatically, her lips pursed in a frail attempt to hide her smile. “ _Shh_.”

“Thank you all for bein’ here this afternoon.” When Thomas spoke, the room fell silent, and when Y/N turned back in her seat to face him, she found his eyes fixed on her. His casual expression was as measured as his tone, but when he paused a moment, she felt certain she was the only one who’d caught the strain in his smile.

He turned away from her as he continued speaking, but his words hardly processed with her. Instead, her focus was on the thinly-veiled glare he wore every time his gaze brushed over Ben’s seat; her focus was on the way he adamantly avoided looking in her direction, meeting her eyes. Her focus was on how she seemed to have become invisible to him in just a few short minutes, and as fixated on that as she was, she didn’t realize Thomas had opened the floor for questions until all the reporters around her started throwing rapid-fire questions out at him. Her eyebrows shot up.

With that, the press conference began to drone on for the two hours that followed.

Y/N couldn’t complain about being there for as long as she was; for once, she could report on an event without reporters yelling over one another and cutting each other off as they scrambled to get their questions in.

Despite this, the notes she took were sparse. For the rest of the time she was there, Thomas didn’t meet her eyes even once; however, his cordial manner didn’t disguise from her the severity of his gaze whenever Ben piped up to ask him a question. This would’ve raised eyebrows had she not been the only one who noticed, and she had a theory or two as to why he seemed so cold.

As such, Y/N left with very little new information about Thomas’s campaign, but she did learn two new key tidbits: first, that Thomas’s favorite movie was _Die Hard_ (a reporter from _Teen Vogue_ had asked, and Y/N consequently wondered why they were there), and second, that he could be impressively petty.

She didn’t ask many questions, either — not after how he regarded her when she did. Not only did he ignore her attempting to break into the conversation until she was talking over the man who sat three seats to her left, but when he addressed her, he was short with her, his words blunt and formal. He didn’t even meet her eyes. Only after she noticed the sideways glances he kept stealing at Ben — who was concurrently murmuring something to Y/N, and whether it made her roll her eyes or elbow his side, her smile was unmistakable — did she realize the cause and effect at play.

Simply put, Thomas was beyond tense.

And for Y/N, the afternoon was a grand waste of time.

* * *

**“SECRETARY JEFFERSON!”**

**HE** shuffled them all out of the conference room a little while after 6 PM, and in the building’s lobby stood another crowd of reporters all ready to intercept Thomas the minute he emerged. He met them with a bright smile, waving, shaking hands and taking questions as he went on.

Y/N tried to push through the masses to him, lips pursed. “Secretary Jefferson, d'you have—?”

He was too far gone to hear her, and as she waded further into the crowd toward him with a huff, he kept growing further from her. “Mr. Jefferson, I—”

Right when she neared his side, her effort to get his attention was adamant, and for a moment, he glanced over at the sound of her voice. Their eyes met. Y/N figured he’d pause upon realizing she was there, but rather, his reaction was quite the opposite: he’d no sooner seen her than turned to the journalist on his other side, disregarding her. For a moment, she almost questioned whether he’d realized she was there.

Her scowl was deep-seated as Ben came up beside her.

“No luck?”

She glanced at him with a tired gaze, and he wore a sympathetic smile. “Apparently not. Jefferson doesn’t seem to care about my upcoming article.”

Ben laughed. “I wonder why that is.” The wry sarcasm in his voice made her raise an eyebrow; he shrugged. “I mean, your articles never cast him in the greatest light, do they?”

“Guess you’re right,” she murmured, and her eyes drifted back to Thomas, now in the opposite corner of the room and greeting supporters and reporters. “Still seems kind of rude, though. I wouldn’t think he’d even be paying that close of attention to what I’m publishing.”

“Please,” Ben scoffed. “Everyone’s tuned into your writing. He’d be stupid not to be.”

“I dunno about that,” Y/N replied, turning to him with a small smile. “He probably has better things to do.”

“Better than managing his brand? Nah, he’s read your writing,” he said matter-of-factly with a shrug. “Probably trying to avoid getting dragged, which seems like a weak strategy. He should do damage control, instead.”

“I’m not doing that much damage,” she said, a trace of a laugh in her voice, and Ben shrugged.

“That remains to be seen. It seems silly for him to not talk to you.”

Y/N couldn’t help but silently agree; or, at least, she’d have liked to, but with Thomas’s sudden change in attitude toward her, she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that there was a deeper motive at play. “Yeah.”

“But whatever; fuck him,” he went on, apparently sensing the melancholy undertone to her demeanor, and as he scoffed dramatically, she laughed outright. “I’m gonna get out of here. I’ve got what I need.” When she nodded, he hesitated before adding, “You looking to join me?”

She turned to him with her eyebrows raised. “And go where?”

He shrugged. “There’s a bar around the corner. And you seem like you could use a drink.” She held her tongue for another moment, considering it, and he just watched her. “But I wasn’t thinking of staying long.”

The offer was tempting. As Y/N pondered it, well aware that his motive wasn’t quite innocent, her gaze drifted back to Thomas. He was looking everywhere but at her, it seemed — he’d hardly said a word to her all afternoon, was dodging her attempts to approach him, and didn’t seem to want anything to do with her — and she sighed as she came to a decision. She turned to Ben with a small smile.

“Just for one drink?”

“That’s all I’ll ask.”

While she forced herself to shift her focus off of Thomas as they left the room, determined to enjoy her night, he caught sight of her retreating side-by-side with Ben, talking and laughing, just as they were reaching the exit.

She was the only thing on Thomas’s mind for the remainder of the night.

* * *

 **ANOTHER WEEK PASSED**. Still, it was radio silence from Thomas, and while she didn’t try to reach him, it was starting to worry her. Had that run-in at Lafayette’s three weeks before put him off that much? Could he really still think she was sleeping with Lafayette?

As hard as she was trying to cast those thoughts aside, the only other thing she had to focus on was coming up with a solution for what to do with her article from her interview with Adams: so Thomas was never far from her thoughts. She couldn’t decide whether continuing to avoid him was a good idea. She returned to her regular shifts at the diner, at the very least, but he never stopped by, or, if he did, it wasn’t when she was around.

She was almost relieved when Ashley asked her to report on his next big-donor fundraiser, promising her double pay for overtime.

* * *

 **THOMAS DIDN’T EXPECT** to see her there.

The event was down in North Carolina, a hotel ballroom in Raleigh. He’d been dreading it, admittedly — he’d much rather have spent his time discussing actual policy with his constituents, maybe holding a town hall, but instead, there he was, shaking hands and wooing the über-wealthy to keep his campaign afloat. (Was it too late to accept funding from super PACs?)

He was chatting with a couple from the area, nice people coasting on a windfall from a strategic stock investment many years ago, when he spotted her at the edge of the room, standing beside Dolley and delicately sipping whiskey as though cautiously toeing the line of sobriety.

She glanced over at him, though, only moments later, and he was struggling to keep his composure as he tried to keep the conversation lighthearted — stick to the talking points. Y/N retained her spot in the corner of his vision all the while, though, and his thoughts remained there with her. When the old couple broke off from him to get something to drink, she was headed in his direction, and he didn’t suppose the timing was a coincidence.

He didn’t let her see the scowl he wore when he turned away. She couldn’t really think she could come chat with him after avoiding him for weeks, and he’d pretend like nothing was wrong. He knew this wasn’t the time to address the elephant in the room; however, if he gave in and gave her his time, that’d be all he could focus on. So, no: he wouldn’t be letting her pigeon-hole him into having that conversation, not after she’d been the one avoiding him in the first place. If she needed him, she knew how to reach him.

Thankfully, the table he’d been hovering near was full, so when he started walking further from her vicinity, he had somewhere to go.

He left without a second thought.

* * *

 **THE REST OF** the night proceeded much in the same way. She tried, and tried, and tried again to get a moment of his time, but there always seemed to be someone higher on his list of priorities.

By the time two hours elapsed, she’d lost him entirely, and that was the final straw. She owed it to her dignity to give up.

Dolley was the only one who knew she’d left as she roamed the halls of the hotel’s first floor — they’d been clinging to one another the entire night, and she’d been whining when Y/N told her she was going to get some air.

The entire floor carried the lingering scent of chlorine as Y/N passed conference rooms and bite-sized gyms, although there was no pool as far as she could see. She wondered briefly how every hotel managed to bottle that smell up and leave it everywhere, but the thought was fleeting; she dismissed it the moment she caught sight of bubbling water behind the door at the end of the hall: a hot tub. She could’ve laughed. If nothing else, it seemed she could count on hotels having shitty, cramped pools that they played up on their websites and in their pamphlets (though she’d have to check out the hotel’s marketing later to confirm her theory).

She was surprised to find the door unlocked when she gave it a tentative push, looking for somewhere to sit, if only for a minute or two, but when she stepped inside, she was even more surprised to find Thomas sitting to her immediate left.

When he met her eyes, he looked equally stunned by her presence. A beat passed.

Finally, she offered him a small smile.

“I guess I should be used to running into you every time I go to take a breather at some fancy party, huh?”

His expression was subdued as he looked her over. “Guess this wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Or the second,” she added, but as she let the door fall shut behind her, he didn’t react to her words, instead pushing himself up in his chair with his hands on the armrests. “Why are you in here?”

“Well, I was told that the hotel had a luxury pool and spa, so obviously, I had to check it out for myself,” he said frankly, and when she laughed softly, the corners of his lips twitched upward. He still didn’t meet her eyes, averting his gaze back to the water. “Not sure it lived up to expectations.”

“You got swindled that easily?” she asked incredulously. “I’d think the future president would be a little more discerning than that.”

“‘Future president’?” he repeated, disbelief clear in his voice. She shrugged.

“Your words, not mine.”

He allowed himself a wry smile, though he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, as the future president, I can’t be avoidin’ my own fundraiser for this long,” he said, and she furrowed her brow when he pushed himself to his feet. “I was just leavin’.”

“Hey, no, you weren’t.” She folded her arms, standing between him and the door. “Why are you trying to run the minute you see me?”

“…Excuse me?”

“Sit back down, Thomas.” She didn’t fold under his heavy gaze; their standoff only lasted a moment longer before he decided it’d be easier just to give in. He sat on the side of the lounge chair with a huff, and she took the one opposite him. “You’ve hardly said a word to me for the past month. Why?”

“Guess I’ve just been busy.”

“You’re always busy,” she countered, and his impatient sigh was audible. “But I haven’t gone this long without talking to you since the first time we kissed.”

The first time they kissed. Not the first time they had sex, not the first time she stayed over at his place, but the first time they kissed. Her using that as the milestone in their relationship made his posture soften.

“Yeah, well, the primaries are endin’, now, so I’ve got more to do.”

She scoffed. “I’m calling bullshit.” He raised an affronted brow. “That wouldn’t have stopped you from talking to me at your last press conference. Or here, tonight. Or even just texting me; there’s no way that could take more than sixty seconds out of your day.”

“Hang on, now, you haven’t reached out either,” he defended. “Talk all you want about me avoiding you, but you were avoidin’ me first.”

“That’s a groundless accusation,” she said, but he folded his arms, watching her expectantly.

“You haven’t been at your usual shifts at the diner for weeks, now, sweetheart,” he informed her. “And right when you saw me at Lafayette’s place, you bolted.”

“That wasn’t because you were there. My schedule changed at work, so I changed my shifts at the diner, and I had to be there that night.”

“Your schedule changed?” he asked skeptically, and she nodded. “What’s so different about it?”

Y/N shrugged. “Nothing too drastic. My editor just has me working late a few days a week, now.”

“Didn’t you tell me a couple weeks ago that you two struck a deal so you wouldn’t have to work overtime?”

“Nothing’s permanent, Thomas.”

“So when would I find you workin’ if I stopped by at the diner, then?”

“Oh, um…” she trailed off, taken aback — she hadn’t expected him to press her for details, but in retrospect, she should’ve. The look he wore was expectant. “Well, Wednesday and Thursday nights—”

“I was there on Thursday. You weren’t.” His words were blunt; his gaze was sharp, calculating. She was slowly being backed into a corner, and Thomas knew by then that he had her trapped.

“Your point?”

“Thought that was obvious enough,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “You’re makin’ up all this about your schedule changin’, and I wanna know why.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” she defended, and he huffed out a dry, humorless laugh.

“Don’t you start gaslighting me,” he warned. While Y/N scowled, she remained silent; unfortunately for her, he was right, and she didn’t have many other cards to play. “I know when I’m bein’ lied to, sweetheart.”

She was shifting under his heavy gaze; his using the term of endearment felt cold, _condescending_ , then, rather than anything close to affectionate. “I don’t have to tell you everything that happens in my life.”

“And I wouldn’t ask you to.” He didn’t miss a beat. His eyes were narrowed. “But if you don’t wanna tell me the truth, don’t just make somethin’ else up. I feel like I deserve that much.”

“I didn’t want to leave you wondering about what you thought I could be hiding. It doesn’t involve you.”

“And I’m not gonna try to force my way into your personal life. I get that you’ve got things to do ‘n places to be.” He cocked a brow. “So are you just lyin’ to me ‘cause you really _do_ have something you’re tryna hide from me?”

Y/N huffed, shook her head in disbelief. “I mean, yeah, I am hiding things from you,” she said, but the undertone of her words was harsh. “But that shouldn’t come as some surprise. At the end of the day, I might end up in your bed, but for every other hour, I have a whole life that you aren’t part of. I’m allowed to have things I’m ashamed of, and I’m allowed to have things I wanna keep for myself. You have no control over me.”

“‘Control’?” he scoffed. “Is that really what you still think of me?”

“That’s how you’re acting,” she said. “Let’s face it: you’ve been lashing out every time you see me with other men. First at Lafayette’s, then at your stupid press conference. You don’t own me.”

“Listen,” he said, looking her square in the eye, and his gaze was sharp, “It’s none of my business what you do or who you do it with, and I get that. But if you weren’t lyin’ to me at every turn, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“I’m not 'lying to you at every turn,'” she defended, “but I don’t owe you anything.”

“Don’t I deserve the truth, at least?” he asked incredulously. “Or do I really mean that little to you?”

“I…” She didn’t know what to say. _Of course not,_ she wanted to yell, _of course you don’t, but right now, I’m stuck choosing between you and my income, my rent money, my student debt payments_. She could justify neither half the things she’d said nor the way she’d been treating him, not without telling him everything that was going on, and when she swallowed hard, he took her silence as the answer it wasn’t.

He gave a bitter laugh, dragged a hand through his curls. “I dunno what I expected. Guess I shouldn’t have asked, huh?”

“We were never together, and we were never exclusive. You know that as well as I do.”

“No, we weren’t,” he agreed. “But I guess I managed to fool myself into thinkin’ all those hours we were spendin’ together meant something. Won’t be makin’ that mistake again.”

“Don’t be like this.” She scowled. “I never pretended our relationship was anything other than what it is.”

“Nah, you made that clear enough when you started blowing me off to go spend the night elsewhere.”

“I’ve already told you _so many times_ that it wasn’t like that!” she said. “I don’t want to jump Lafayette’s bones. I can’t believe you have the audacity to be acting jealous.”

“Of course I’m fucking jealous!” He broke her gaze with a huff, shook his head as he looked everywhere but at her. “You’ve been dodgin’ my calls, stayin’ as far from me as possible, and then I see you spending your time with Lafayette and that little reporter friend of yours from the New York Times. How else am I supposed to feel?”

“I don’t owe you my time.”

“Maybe you don’t,” he said, voice frigid, “but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt.”

“Hang on, you’re deflecting from the fact that you were avoiding me, too.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Yes, I can.” She scowled. “You can’t come complaining about how I’ve been treating you when you’ve been doing the exact same thing.”

“What was I supposed to do, go chasin’ after you?” he asked. “I have too much self-respect to be tryna hunt someone down when they’re makin’ it clear they don’t want me around.”

“I’ve been trying to talk to you all night!”

“Yeah, sure, now that it’s convenient for you,” Thomas retorted. “I don’t just wanna be convenient, Y/N. I want more than that.”

“Convenient is all this ever was! It’s all this was ever supposed to be!” she reasoned. “If I wasn’t there, you would’ve just been trying to fuck some other girl in your office at that fucking state dinner.”

“No, I wouldn’t. That’s what you don’t get.” His tone was biting, but his words made her frown.

“Why not, Thomas? You and I both knew what this was when we got into it! We knew it couldn’t last with our careers,” she said. He stayed silent, and she pursed her lips; when she spoke, her voice was softer, “Don’t be like this. This was never going to be more than what it is.”

“Couldn’t it have been, though?” he asked, and he raised an expectant eyebrow. His conviction was clear.

“No.” Her answer caught him off guard, and he frowned. “You weren’t under any illusions about that. We’ve been hiding for a reason.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t be doin’ this.”

“…What?” Y/N’s eyes widened at his words, and despite how taken aback she was, Thomas’s eyes were narrowed when they finally met hers.

“What? If I’m not what you want, what are we sneakin’ around for? I think you oughta stop _wastin’ your time_ with me.” The last sentence was saturated with bitter sarcasm, and she raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, I never said I was ‘wasting my time’ with you,” she said, affronted. “I… like spending time with you. Isn’t that justification enough?”

“Then what have these past couple weeks been about, hm? You come around sayin’ all this now, but you haven’t been actin’ like it.”

“I haven’t been playing some kind of game, here, Thomas! I was always upfront with you,” she defended. “I’ve just been busy.”

“Oh, yeah, busy with Lafayette, right?” he sneered, and her eyebrows shot up. She folded her arms. “Busy with that reporter you left the fundraiser with?”

“Busy working two jobs to be able to pay my rent.” Her teeth were gritted; her jaw tensed when Thomas rolled his eyes. “We can’t all spend our whole lives coasting on daddy’s money, Jefferson.”

“So it’s like that, huh?” He huffed, shaking his head. The small smile he wore was sardonic, disbelieving. “You’re playin’ that card? Seems like you’ve been able to find time for the other guys you’ve been screwin’, though.”

“Are you serious? Fuck you; I don’t have to take this from you,” she said incredulously. “Don’t tell me I’ve been acting like some whore when you don’t know my life.”

“Hang on, now, I’m not callin’ you a _whore_ ,” he defended. She scoffed. “Don’t you dare put words in my mouth.“

"That sure is what it sounds like,” she snarled. “You have no right to complain about me sleeping with other men. You don’t own me.”

“So you _have_ been sleeping with 'em?”

A long moment passed in silence; Thomas’s expression was unreadable, but Y/N couldn’t bring herself to break his gaze.

“What if I am?” she finally asked bitterly. “Do you really think I’d let you stop me?”

“No, I don’t,” he said. “'Cause I never really meant shit to you, did I?”

“ _Now_ who’s putting words in whose mouth?”

“What else am I supposed to take away from this? Hm?”

“That we aren’t dating, and that you aren’t my boyfriend! For god’s sake, Thomas, you’re a _presidential nominee_!”

“We’ve long since established that,” he said, and his gaze was cold, calculated, “but you really think that gives you license to treat me like shit?”

“I haven’t been treating you like shit,” she defended, affronted.

"You’ve been ignorin’ me for weeks. You’ve been out sleepin’ with other men, not even giving me the time of day,” he replied, and she narrowed her eyes. His voice was beginning to rise.

“But I don't—”

“You don’t owe me anything. We aren’t together,” he snarled. “Yeah. I get it, Y/N.”

“Then why are you acting like this?”

“Do I really need to repeat myself? I don’t like bein’ treated like this; it’s as simple as that!”

“Then maybe you’re right. Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this." Her words were impulsive, born of frustration and anger less than any conscious thought. Thomas raised his eyebrows, and Y/N’s heart sank to her stomach at the shock in his gaze that he didn’t react soon enough to hide.

For a moment, she wished she could take it back; that is, until he responded—

"Then I guess we shouldn’t.” It was her turn to be surprised, then, as the hurt in his expression hardened into contempt. She didn’t respond, at first; her throat was tight, and her head was pounding, and she was struggling to wrap her head around the finality of his words. In that moment, she wanted them to be final.

“Fine.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, shook her head. “So this is how this ends, huh?”

“Accordin’ to you, there was never anything here to end,” Thomas replied bitterly. “Isn’t that right?”

When she met his eyes, they didn’t mirror the ache that permeated every inch of her body. Instead, he looked indifferent, just waiting for her to answer.

“I guess not,” she whispered. The heavy silence between them only grew. “But, Thomas, I never meant to—”

There was a knock at the door.

They both jumped at the sound; Y/N cut herself off abruptly as her head whipped around toward the door. Thomas turned in his chair.

"Who’s there?” Despite the vulnerable position he knew himself to be in, his voice was commanding; he spoke with a degree of authority Y/N considered to be unearned in their circumstance.

The door cracked open to reveal Dolley wearing an apologetic wince, and she didn’t step inside. Y/N and Thomas both breathed heavy sighs of relief, though, the rigidity softening in their postures at the sight of her face.

“I’m _so_ sorry; I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said softly, “but when you stopped talking, I thought you were done, and—”

“It’s alright,” Y/N said, her words sounding tired. “How much of that did you hear?” Dolley gave a nervous shrug.

“More than I should’ve,” she admitted, and Y/N hardly stifled her groan, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m so sorry, dear; I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I was waiting for a good time to come in, and… one never came.”

“Why’s it always gotta be you?” Thomas said, and Y/N turned to glare at him.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” she argued. “She was trying to be considerate; this isn’t her fault.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples as he held his face in his hands. After a long moment, he turned to Dolley. “’M sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean it how it came off. But what’re you doin’ back here?”

“Actually, I came here so someone else wouldn’t,” she said scathingly. “A Ben Arnold and an Angelica Schuyler are both looking for you, Y/N. I told them I knew where you were because I was worried about someone _else_ walking in on you two.”

 _Angelica?_ Y/N didn’t have time to dwell.

“Well, we appreciate it,” she said firmly, and she could only pray her voice didn’t break when she said, "We were just about done here, anyway.“

”…Okay,“ Dolley said hesitantly as Y/N stood, and although she didn’t look back as she joined her at the door, Dolley could see how dejected Thomas looked.

"Then let’s go." Y/N brushed past her without another word. Dolley didn’t follow her for another minute.

Concern was heavy in her creased brow as she eyes Thomas where he sat, head in his hands and making no move to stand up. 

“Thomas,” she said hesitantly, “Are you—?”

“Just go, Doll,” he sighed, and she frowned. “Sounds like you and Y/N have places to be.”

“For what it’s worth,” —Dolley glanced back over her shoulder, and Y/N had already left her field of vision; she turned back to Thomas— “She hasn’t been with anyone else since you met.”

“How would you know?”

“She has a tendency to run her mouth when she’s tipsy,” Dolley said frankly, wearing a small, reassuring smile.

He sighed. It was far too late for that to be much of a comfort, and he couldn’t keep the vexation from his voice when he responded.

“I appreciate it, really,“ he said, “but… it’s too late.”

* * *

_**9:02 AM** _

_**From: ashl.sheddy@washingtonpost.com** _

_Y/N:_

_The Adams article looks great. Schuyler sent it to me. Although I’m not sure why I didn’t receive it from you the minute you finished writing it, I’m pleased with what you’ve come up with._

_With that said, for the future, tell me immediately when you have a story this provocative. I hope it won’t come to this, but withholding information that you gather on company time may result in the termination of your employment. Please don’t force my hand._

_Regards,_

_Ashley_


End file.
